


It's Not Personal

by modestefemme



Category: BlacKkKlansman (2018)
Genre: Adam Driver - Freeform, Black Character(s), F/M, Fluff and Angst, Internal Conflict, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Young Flip Zimmerman Is A Mess, it's mostly implied
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24529960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modestefemme/pseuds/modestefemme
Summary: After their argument in the records room about Flip’s very private personal life Ron decides to apologize. With drinks in hand, Ron expects the quiet street and off-white colored fences that he passes. What he doesn’t expect to find is Flip’s front door wide open and a young woman; whose skin was closer to warm honey than the neighborhood he was currently in; watering plants on the front porch.
Relationships: Flip Zimmerman/Black!Reader, Flip Zimmerman/Original Character(s), Flip Zimmerman/Reader
Comments: 34
Kudos: 89





	1. A Forest of Plants

**Author's Note:**

> The world is kind of falling apart, so why not enjoy Flip falling in love with a cute black girl? Also, happy birthday this past week to the Queen of Blaxploitation films, Pam Grier.

_1972_

Ron Stallworth took his role as Colorado Springs’ first black police officer very seriously. He reread every case file relevant to the klan multiple times before each meeting with Sergeant Trapp and Chief Bridges. He set his alarm an additional hour early to arrive at the precinct just a few minutes after Jimmy. He even helped Flip go over all the new details he had provided Walter over the phone regarding ‘White Ron Stallworth.’ 

Every long late-night spent between the three ended the same. Jimmy retelling old cases Flip and he solved; the time he almost missed the birth of his daughter; and how he conceived his wife to buy a vacation home back in his hometown of Salt Lake City, Utah. Flip laughed along as he added news clippings to the bulletin board, highlighting certain keywords and members’ names. When pushed by Jimmy he would even indulge Ron with colorful stories from his days at the Nebraska Police Academy: pranks he pulled on his fellow officers, the first case he solved, and even the first case he botched. 

Those stories are as personal as it gets for Flip. He never toes the line when it comes to his home life or Nebraska. As far as Ron knew, Flip could be an orphan or come from a family of ten. He thinks there’s a possibility that Flip might tell him more personal stories at one point, as they get deeper into this case. Late nights pouring over files with Jimmy and Flip were usually light-hearted; until they weren’t. Granted given Flip’s private nature Ron really should have seen this coming. 

“Flip,” Ron called over his shoulder as he looked for a spot to add another photo on their massive bulletin board, it was starting to get a little disorganized, “how come you never asked to be transferred back to Lincoln?”

The larger detective was laying on the couch reading through the information he had received from Walter about the ‘organization.’ 

“Why would I,” Flip kept his eyes focused on the file in his lap, mainly looking over ‘historical’ events and gatherings the Klan held, a few pieces on cross burnings and one about where he could find a copy of ‘The Birth of a Nation.’

Ron pinned the last black and white photo under a news clipping.

“Well you said you missed your old unit,” he continued placing the leftover pins in a small box on the desk, “I’m sure they’d take you back.”

Flip was quiet for a moment before he recrossed his legs.

“Somethings are better left in Nebraska,” he mumbled, turning over a page that had Felix’s current information, more specifically his home address that both detectives would be driving to tomorrow afternoon where Flip would meet other members of the Klan. Ron caught the way Jimmy had looked over at Flip before continuing his work on the listening device in front of him.  
Ron let the silence hang over the room for a few minutes waiting to see if Flip would add more to his rather dark statement. Instead, the taller man continued to read his file. He reached for the pen he had dropped on the floor earlier during the night to write in the margin of the paper. 

“Did something happen?” Ron asked at a slower pace losing confidence in the question with each word. Jimmy released a sigh placing the wire in his hand down. Flip turned to another page jotting down a few more notes. 

“Ron,” Jimmy started before Flip shifted his body into a sitting position and closed the slim, but growing file.

He stood up to stretch before glancing over at Ron. 

“It’s alright Jimmy,” he mumbled, “but I think that’s enough prying for the night Rookie.”

Walking over to the older man’s desk he placed the file near the finished wiring device. With quick regards to Jimmy, Flip walked out the backroom without a second glance as he headed for the front.

“Don’t,” Jimmy started when Ron opened his mouth to question what had just occurred in their small backroom. He sighed watching Jimmy wrap up the spare wires in a small neat loop. He grabbed his jacket and turned off the light as Jimmy held the door for him. 

They continued down the narrow hallway in silence, passing Flip where he sat at his desk with his back to them. As they rounded the corner Ron could see that he was holding a small piece of paper in between his hands. He rubbed at the edges before placing it back in the bottom right drawer, shuffling a few pages to cover it. He leaned back in his chair digging into his shirt pocket for his cigarette case. 

“Did I tell you about the chili cook-off my wife and I went to in ‘67? Best chili in Salt Lake.” Jimmy commented. Ron turned to him as they reached the front door. If Jimmy thought him apologizing to Flip wasn’t the right idea at the moment then he would have to wait until tomorrow.

“I highly doubt Utah has good chili,” Ron laughed as the cold Colorado air touched his skin. 

“There’s seasoning in Salt Lake, it’s in the name.” Jimmy huffed, clapping Ron on the back as they walked down the steps of the precinct.

Ron sighed for what he believed to be the third time in under 2 minutes. He had replayed the argument in the records room between Flip and himself since yesterday. The lack of feeling in Flip’s tone when regarding his own life, but the fire behind his eyes when Ron tried to pry again into his personal business. How he could not meet Ron’s eyes for a few moments when pressed about his lack of passion in the case. The way he paused at being called a WASP. Ron knew he was projecting past emotions onto Flip, some, for the most part, he didn’t entirely deserve. Which is why Ron was currently parking his car a few houses up in a more suburban part of town.

Flip was off today and Jimmy had casually suggested to him last night to head over to Flip’s in the late morning to apologize in person before their next stakeout. It was simple enough. Ron stopped at the liquor store by his home with only a slight glance from a group of older women as he placed the chilled six-pack of beer in his car. 

Checking to see that his afro had not frizzed from the dewy air, Ron reluctantly got out of his car. The neighborhood Flip lived in was relatively quiet as the houses were spaced apart, but just close enough to seem friendly. He closed the car door beers in hand as he walked down the sidewalk. Jimmy assured him that he would know Flip’s house when he saw it. A modest single-story pale blue home with what Jimmy had called a forest of plants on the porch. Try as he might Ron could not picture a man like Flip in his usual heavy flannel and boots keeping one let alone multiple plants alive. Though Ron suspects his assumptions of Flip are why he’s opening the off-white fence leading up to his home in the first place. 

Ron’s so lost in his own thoughts that it takes him a second to process what he’s seeing. He expected the small houses lining the street. Expected trim lawns and one car parked in each driveway. What he does not expect to find is Flip’s front door wide open and a young woman whose complexion was closer to warm honey than the neighborhood he was currently in watering plants on the front porch.

Ron looks at the address shown by the front door matching the one Jimmy had given him. He can correctly identify that the house is indeed a pale blue. He now fully understands what a forest of plants looks like as they hang from the porch almost like it was growing towards the street. What he does not place is the woman Ron can hear humming to herself before she’s looking at him with a friendly smile on her face. 

“I’m sorry miss,” Ron started already turning away, “I think I have the wrong house.” He looked at the house to the right which is also a pale blue but lacks even a single plant. The house on the left is a bright white. 

“Do you know which house is Detective Phillip Zimmerman?” If he cut her off before she could properly greet him he’ll apologize for that, after he finds Flip’s house. 

Her smile remains as she seems to be connecting dots Ron does not want to connect.

“No you found it, I was just finishing up,” she replied. 

_Finishing up like leaving,_ Ron thought because the alternative is not something he wanted to currently confirm. She places the green watering can behind one of the plants.

“Flip should be back in a moment,” she said as she brushed her hands against blue jeans with tiny flowers embroidered along the sides. Ron willingly chooses to ignore the familiarity of Flip’s name to take a step forward to shake the hand she has placed in front of him. It’s soft and small with multiple delicate rings covering her fingers. She’s a few shades lighter than him, but in no means could she ever past for white. 

“Ron Stallworth, I work with Flip at the Colorado Springs Police Department,” he watched the way her eyebrows raised just a hair.

“Carmen,” she hasn’t stopped smiling since Ron closed the fence behind him.

“Like Carmen Jones?” Ron can only hope she was born _before_ the film’s release. 

She laughed like it was the funniest thing she had ever heard. 

“For what it’s worth I had the name first.” She let go of Ron’s hand which he didn’t notice was still shaking hers. She turn to head back towards the house, gesturing for him to follow her. He looked around the neighborhood again but he knows this is the right house. 

The walk to the door felt like miles, his legs like lead with each step further into a house he does not feel welcomed in despite Carmen’s warm smile that she gives him over her shoulder. She closes the door and it might as well have been an alarm going off. 

“I usually try to do all the housework on Saturday mornings, so I can have the rest of the day for myself,” she said walking further into the house.

 _Maybe she’s a housekeeper,_ Ron was well aware that he was reaching now as he checked every wall he passed for photos, for shared possessions, for something, _not Flip_. 

“Did you want some water?” She moved towards the refrigerator, palm wrapped around the handle. It’s not even warm outside but Ron found himself nodding his head.

He eyed the photo held in place with a Colorado State magnetic when she turns around to get him a glass. It’s a single photo strip, the kind machines at malls print out. 

The flannel appears to have always been a part of Flip’s life we’ll before his facial hair. There are four photos: the first was a younger maybe mid to late twenties Flip looking off-camera towards the left like he’s watching something; the second showed him staring straight at the camera a small smile gracing his lips; the photo under that is an expression Ron hasn’t seen before, the way Flip’s eyes crinkle in the corner with a toothy grin; the last photo is definitely too private for him, their noses bumped together as Carmen grins into their kiss. Ron can see her still from the corner of his eye watching him. When he turned his head in her direction he saw the way she was gripping the sink behind her white-knuckled. He tried to give her his kindest smile so she would understand she was safe. That it wasn’t a mistake to let him in her home; _their_ home. 

Carmen slowly returns his smile after a moment handing him the tall glass of water. 

“How long have you and Flip been together?” He whispered the air was still too tense to speak at a normal volume. Ron could tell she was adding up the months; years.

“Over four years now,” she messed with a simple silver band on her ring finger. It was mostly hidden among the more elaborate rings that graced her hand.

He took a sip from the glass. 

“Did you two meet here?” Ron asked. Though he has a feeling he already knew the answer.

It’s the first time since he has entered the modest home that her smile had taken on a less cheerful state.

“We met in Nebraska.” She put the jug of water back in the refrigerator.

It was finally starting to click into place.

It’s easy for him to see her intentions and emotions plain as day, though that might be the fact that trying to understand Flip was almost like communicating with a brick wall. 

Ron heard the familiar sound of a truck pulling up outside, remembers the beers he brought, and knows they won’t be enough for this new level of privacy that he has broken — violated. Carmen motions for him to have a seat as she pushed a plate of cookies towards him. 

She leaves him to sit at the kitchen table as she headed back through the hall towards the front door. 

Ron sank lower in his seat as Flip greeted her at the door with sweet words that were clearly meant for her ears only. The door closed back as heavy footsteps head in his direction.

“Ron’s in the kitchen waiting for you,” her words silenced the echo of boots in the hall. 

“Who?” Flip’s voice seemed louder in the hallway behind him. The walls bouncing his deep voice throughout the area.

“Ron,” Carmen seemed to laugh. He could practically picture the look of disbelief on Flip’s face, how both his brows shoot up. “The brother with the nice afro, he even brought drinks.”

It almost got Ron to chuckle but the quickening of boots stalls that. He’s not sure if he should stand to face Flip or remain seated. The decision was already made up for him when he could feel the moment Flip entered the room.

Ron was slow to stand, to turn and face Flip whose body almost covered the entire kitchen doorway. If Carmen was behind him Ron wouldn’t be able to tell from Flip’s wide shoulders. 

Flip observed him for a moment, took in the six-pack on the small kitchen table and the half-drunk glass of water. 

“Rookie,” it was only one word and Ron could tell he was pissed, vivid even, “what are you doing here?”

There’s a profanity usually placed in that sentence, but Ron could see he was trying to remain calm in front of Carmen. 

“I came to apologize,” Ron stated firmly, motioned towards the six-pack as if to prove his point.

Flip raised a dark brow as he crossed his arms. The flannel he’s wearing pulled tight over his arms.

“For what?” He asked. It’s the same time tone he had back in the records room. 

“Pushing you about your personal life?” Ron stated less firm, more unsure. 

He heard the soft chuckled in the hallway to Flip’s left before light footsteps continue towards the back of the house. So much for a calming presence to help him.

“You came to my house, without me inviting you,” Flip started changing stances opting to lean against the doorway, “sat down in my kitchen and waited for me to get home to apologize about snooping into my personal life?”

Ron huffed because it was ridiculous now when he hears his actions spoken out loud.

“Yes.”

“Jesus,” Flip dragged a hand down his face, “you’re fucking unbelievable.”

He sighed before walking fully into the kitchen, passes Ron and sits heavily into the chair directly across from him. It released a low scrape-like sound from his sudden weight.

“That’s it?” Ron looked at him waiting for the other shoe to drop. Flip grunted leaning forward to grab a beer, uses an opener that was previously left on the table. 

“I was going to tell you after,” he waved his hand in the air. 

“Why didn’t you say something at the start?” Ron’s a little more confident now that Flip doesn’t look as angry. He grabs a beer from the pack. 

“Like what?” Flip sipped at his own drink eyeing Ron over the bottle. 

“Like the fact that you’re married,” Ron started off slow. 

Flip lowered his brows for a split second as he reached towards the plate of cookies Carmen had placed in front of Ron. They’re roughly the same size as the ones Ron sees in diners, but look tiny in Flip’s larger hand. 

“Okay, I’m married,” Flip said around the food in his mouth, tone flat.

“Flip, this is serious,” Ron stressed. 

“How so?” He chugged the rest of his drink. His voice was steady, but Ron could see the way his leg had started to bounce. 

“Flip, she’s…” Ron paused thinking of a way to address the black elephant in the room in a delicate like manner. 

Flip leaned forward to grab another beer, this time when he popped the cap off Ron noticed he doesn’t put the opener back. The sharp edge facing down in a tight grip. Flip’s leg had stopped shaking.

“Well, she’s black,” Ron could sense that his tone was slightly condescending by the look Flip had sent him. Though something in his posture must seem non-threatening because after a beat Flip placed the opener back on the table between them. 

“Does she know about the investigation?” Ron pressed when Flip failed to say anything at all.

“Yeah, thanks to you almost getting me killed.” Flip tipped the bottle back to his lips. 

Ron took a sip of his beer and watched as Flip glanced over towards the refrigerator; towards the photo strip. There were also postcards from the towns that separate Colorado Springs from Lincoln, Nebraska scattered with magnets. 

“Flip, I really do apologize for putting you in danger, but now–” Flip cut him off setting his beer down with some force.

“Now you know this is personal ,” he finished. He leaned back into the chair which creaked under his weight again. 

Carmen cleared her throat as she stood in the doorway, startling Ron who had not heard her approaching the kitchen. Flip remained in a lax position despite the fact Ron knew she must have heard the tail end of their conversation. Heard that Flip had been keeping _her_ a secret.

“I was going to make lunch if you wanted to stay,” she walked into the room with grace, grabs two plates for the cabin and pauses her fingers along the edge of a third plate. Ron looked towards Flip who chose to ignore him in favor of grabbing another cookie. 

“I really appreciate the offer,” Ron went to stand, “but I have to head back to the station. I’m waiting on a phone call.”

Ron walked over to Carmen extending his hand out to her which she takes with a small smile. 

“Come by anytime Ron,” she said, then leans close to whisper in his ear, “no need to bring Flip beers.” 

Ron returned her gentle smile. Understands that its technically not snooping if she was inviting him. 

Flip stood behind him heading for the door without a single glance over his shoulder to check if Ron was following him.

He walked back down the narrow hallway out onto the porch where Flip was leaning against the wall by the front door. A cigarette hung from his lips as he dug in his pocket for a lighter. It’s the first time Ron has noticed Flip never took off his thick denim jacket. He lights the stick, looks over to Ron when he takes the first drag. The smoke drifts between them before the wind blows it away.

“This doesn’t change anything,” he mumbled around his cigarette, “I still need to meet with Walter and Felix tomorrow.”

He moved to block the door with his body, shoulders tight as the wind picked up. Ron doesn’t know what to really say. If this new discovery of Flip’s life was something they could discuss at the station during late nights, where he could ask Ron questions if he had any. He wondered how many people knew about this part of Flip, probably just Jimmy, Sergeant Trapp, and maybe Chief Bridges.

“I’m happy for you Flip,” Ron settled on. If Flip wasn’t expecting any form of a blessing he hid it behind another drag of his cigarette. He could hear the faucet running and started to make his way down the steps passing the vibrant greenery of freshly watered plants. 

“See you tomorrow,” Flip replied as he turned to walk back into his house. Back into a home that Ron could not even begin to imagine was difficult to build and tricky to keep safe. 

He thinks that’s enough snooping for today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/jennifercbelcher/) & [tumblr](https://modestefemme.tumblr.com/)


	2. Soft Yellow Mini

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Young Flip Zimmerman is definitely not the smooth undercover cop we all know. He's getting there, just with a lot of trial and error.

_1967_

Flip realized a plaid shirt was not the best decision as the burning Nebraskan sun beat down on his chest between the leaves. His only options were sitting in a cruiser with no working air conditioning or laying under an oak tree for shade waiting for a tow truck. He could hear the gnats flying around his head as he covered his eyes with his foreman.

Just as he felt himself settling into a peaceful sleep the cruiser coughed out another round of dark gray smoke from under the hood. Flip raised his arm slightly to glance at the aging car. He was pretty sure it should have retired along with his chief years ago. The paint was peeling near the front bumper and the passenger side door needed a good shove before anyone could open it. 

In less than two months, Flip could finally trade the old thing in and drive his own truck to the station. Granted the truck needed work as well, but Flip knew he could shine it up in no time. 

He went to shut his eyes again when he heard a man’s voice. 

“Everything all right officer,” the man called over the roar of his own engine. 

Flip turned to see a man a few years older than him parked behind the cruiser. He got out and placed one arm on the roof of his car. Flip recognized the blue polo and the few inches of pressed dress pants he could see as the uniform all employees at the car lot in town wore. 

“I’m fine Mr.Walker,” Flip said, moving to stand. There was no need for Mr.Walker to inform Flip’s father about him laying down on the job regardless of car troubles. 

“Just waiting for the tow truck sir,” Flip explained, “car broke down on me again.”

Mr.Walker eyed the dying cruiser shaking his head. 

“That chief of yours has gotta be a Jew,” he said, “making you boys drive around in such cheap cars.”

Flip plastered on a grin attempting not to react to such a statement. He was hyper-aware of the Star of David necklace his mother had gifted him that laid against his chest below his button-down shirt. 

“We’ll probably get some good bonuses this year,” Flip joked. The cruiser let out a cloud of white steam. 

“You better,” he mumbled. “You fixed that old chevy yet?”

Mr.Walker had sold him an older red and white Chevrolet with a price reduction for all the work he would have to put into it. 

Flip was glad for the change of subject. He looked past the man to see the tow truck slowly making its way towards them.  
  
“Just put in a new radiator last week. Should have her done by the end of July,” Flip smiled. If there was one thing Flip was proud of it was his ability to fix things himself. 

“Bring her by the lot when she’s done. You could probably trade it in for something nice,” he suggested as the tow truck pulled in front of the cruiser. 

“We’ll see, have a good afternoon sir,” Flip presented him one more smile before strolling towards the truck. 

By the time he walked to the front of the cruiser cables were being hooked to the bottom. 

“Hey Benny, thanks for coming,” Flip clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder. 

Benny was a few inches shorter than him, though most people were shorter than Flip. 

“Thank you for getting me outta the shop. Place was packed, everyone’s car is smokin’ I reckon,” Benny spoke as he tightened another strap. The pair had grown up together, both even enlisted in the military. While Benny was stationed down in Georgia, Flip was sent overseas for roughly 3 years. 

“Grab what you need then hop up front,” he said moving towards a box near the truck that would hoist the cruiser on its back tires. 

Flip grabbed his gun from the glove box and his pack of cigarettes. 

He checked with Benny first before lighting one up as the truck moved back onto the highway. It took two Johnny Cash songs for Flip to notice they were driving in the opposite direction.

“Benny I’m pretty sure the garage is on the west side of town,” Flip laughed, blowing smoke out of the window.

“It is, but we’re full and if you want this car ready by tomorrow morning, we gotta head to this other shop,” Benny said as they turned into a more industrial area. Flip looked out the window at the people walking along the sidewalk, same flare jeans, suede jackets, and mini skirts; just darker complexions. 

“And how am I supposed to get the car back?” Flip questioned as the truck stopped at a red light. 

“They’ll bring it to the shop when it’s done,” he said like this was a normal situation. 

“And how do _they_ get back?” Flip pressed. 

“Flip, stop being a cop,” Benny teased as they pulled into a lot. There were only four other cars that seemed to be ahead of his. 

“Is this–”

“I take the mayor’s car here all the time, the cruiser will be fine,” Benny pulled up the brake and hopped out the truck. He motioned for Flip to follow him. 

A group of men working in the garage looked over at them eyeing the police cruiser before focusing back on the cars in front of them. Benny opened the door with ease. It was a small waiting room with just two chairs. 

Flip looked over at a boy who sat behind the counter reading a comic book. 

“Tell your dad I brought that cruiser. I’m gonna leave it in space 5,” Benny waited for the boy to look up from his comic, “I need it done by the morning, okay?”

The boy nodded, staring at the badge Flip still had pinned to his blue button-down. 

Benny grinned at the boy before turning to Flip, “okay, we’re done.”

“That’s it?” Flip watched the boy reopen his comic book. 

“Yup, now let’s grab some breakfast then we can head back,” he said as the door closed behind them. Benny moved behind the truck lowering the cruiser. Flip saw a diner across the street.

“I’m not getting food there,” Flip stated when Benny reached him. 

“Why not,” he grabbed the keys from the truck stuffing them in his back pocket. 

“Benny we can’t eat there,” Flip argued as they left the lot. He grabbed Benny’s sleeve before they could cross the street. 

“Flip don’t be stupid, it’s just food,” he looked both ways and crossed. Flip stood on the other side of the street watching as Benny gave him a mock salute, waited for a family to leave before walking into the diner without sparing another glance in Flip’s direction. 

Flip gave himself until the count of ten then removed the badge from his chest, placed it in his pocket, before crossing the street. He looked through the glass door spotting the back of Benny’s head in a booth a few rows away. Glancing around Flip realized he was bringing more attention to himself by standing around rather than just going in, with a heavy sigh he opened the door. 

A soft chime echoed through the diner at his entrance. Flip kept his head down, thick raven locks falling in his face, and sat in the booth across from his very _white_ midwestern friend. Benny paid him no mind as he looked over the one-paged menu a cup of hot coffee already in front of him. 

“Good morning hun, would you like a coffee as well,” a voice asked. Flip jumped slightly, nerves already on the edge. He quickly glanced at the woman, she was average height, roughly his mother’s age, and had her hair in a short cut. Flip stared at her for a few more seconds before registering her question. 

“Yes please, ma’am, um, thank you, ma’am,” Flip mumbled. She placed a second menu in front of him. 

“Be right back,” she smiled.

Flip heard Benny snickering behind his menu. 

“Man, you need to relax, lookin’ like you about to past out,” he said between sips of his coffee. Flip felt his right leg starting to bounce under the table. He placed his elbows on the polished surface, manners be damned. 

“We really should _not_ be here,” he whispered, hyper-aware of just how close the next group of customers were to them. 

“What are they going to do Flip?” Benny asked as he put his menu on the table near the edge, “Call the cops?”

Flip stared at him for a second refusing to see the humor in his joke. 

“What if someone _sees_ us?” To emphasize his point Flip peered over Benny’s head to the front of the diner at the large windows where he could clearly see everyone who passed by. 

“No one comes over here but me and the boys from the garage. So calm down.” Benny added another creamer to his coffee. Before Flip could come up with any kind of excuse the woman came back with his coffee. 

“Here’s that coffee hun, are you two ready?” She asked, pulling out a pen from behind her ear. Benny grinned up at her. 

“I’ll have the railroad breakfast,” he said, “eggs sunny side up.” 

Flip quickly looked down at the menu in his hand. He didn’t bother reading half the items that had food he’d never heard of.

“I’ll just have the pancakes,” he said. She eyed him for a second before writing down his order.  
  
“Should be out in a moment boys,” she turned. 

“Wait,” Benny stopped her, “can you add a side of hash for him.”

Flip stared holes into the side of his head. The woman glanced over at him before nodding her head.

“Sure thing hun,” she said while walking away.

“What the hell is hash?” Flip asked, grabbing two creamers, they were a different brand than he was used to. 

“It’s just homemade corned beef hash, you’ll like it,” Benny promised. 

They talked about work, or rather Benny complained about customers and Flip listened. Their food came quicker than Flip expected. His pancakes were buttery, fluffy, and stacked high. While Flip did enjoy the homemade hash, Benny left out the fact that it was spicy causing Flip to flag down their waitress for a glass of water. He had already drunk the whole glass after a few more bites. 

“What was Mr.Walker talking to you about?” Benny asked around a mouthful of eggs.

“He wants my chevy after I fix it up,” Flip said, poured more syrup over his pancakes. The soft chime from the front door rang throughout the diner. Families leaving and more staff coming in. 

“Lazy fuck. I see where Kyle gets it,” Benny said, rolling his eyes.

Flip leaned forward motioning with his fork. 

“Said he could get me something nice,” he said, stabbing at his pancakes, and chewing. 

“Like I’m some fuckin’ redneck he doesn’t have to pay to fix those shitty cars,” he continued.

It was the lack of Benny’s voice that he realized someone was standing in front of their table. Flip turned expecting their waitress only to find a younger woman clutching a water pitcher. 

Even from his position in the booth Flip could tell she was on the shorter side. Her apron tied tight at her waist falling over curves. Her mini dress is a soft yellow color buttoned to the top with a collar. Small gold hoop earrings stand out as her hair is pulled back into a curly ponytail.  
  
And her dark eyes were staring right at Flip, who had yet to hand her his empty water glass.

Benny kicked him under the table, hard. Flip winced. 

“Sorry ma’am, you know what they say,” he reached over the table to grab Flip’s cup, “musta been raised in a barn.” He was smiling as he handed her the glass.

She took the glass from him with her left hand and tilted the pitcher. Flip knew he was still staring because Benny kicked him again. 

She placed the glass in front of Flip, he noticed the rings that covered most of her fingers, noticed her left ring finger was bare. She gave him the smallest smile and he could _feel_ himself blink; then she turns to Benny and Flip can _smell_ her perfume. 

“Let me know if you want refills for your coffees,” she said before walking away. 

Flip felt like he needed to leave because he was watching her walk away. He watched her laugh with a man at the bar, who slid his hand down her back, and regardless of if she wanted that it was okay for him to do that here. And Flip needed to leave the diner, but instead, he started drinking his coffee faster despite it being cold and he _hated_ cold coffee. 

Benny dug into his pocket to pull out his wallet. 

“I’ll pay and then we can go,” he said. 

“What,” Flip muttered between gulps of coffee. 

“We can go,” Benny sighed. “You didn’t need to be a fuckin’ jackass just now.”

“What,” because Flip knew he was many things, but a jackass was not one of them; at least not in the last few minutes. 

Benny leaned across the table. 

“You honestly gonna sit there and tell me you weren’t giving her the dirtiest fuckin’ look,” Benny sneered at him. Flip blinks back because he knew he was not giving her a dirty look, he knew that. But Benny was looking at him like he’s really upset and Flip is starting to feel like a jackass. 

“Benny, I swear it wasn’t like that,” Flip said holding up his hands, because apparently he can’t control his face. It’s not like he hasn’t been training to become a detective for the past 4 years to learn how to read other people’s facial expressions.

Benny stared at him hard before he let out a sigh and leaned back into the booth. 

“Well, _if_ she comes back this way you better behave,” he started, “I don’t need anyone spitting in my eggs when I gotta drop off another car.” 

He laughed as Benny goes back to cleaning his plate with the toast he has. 

Flip finished his coffee and placed it near the edge of the table. He had finished his pancakes already and was just poking at his hash. It was cold but still spicy. A minute had barely passed when a golden honey arm gently took hold of the large ceramic cup, freshly brewed coffee flowing into it. Flip takes a deep breath because it smells nutty and rich. 

“I can take your plates,” she offered; avoiding his eyes, and Flip wondered how dirty of a look he must have been giving her. It would be odd for him to apologize, he guessed. 

He grabbed the plate to actually hand it to her trying to meet her eyes, but she was taking Benny’s plate with her gaze still on the table. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said and she turns to him with just the barest tilt of her head. 

He felt his face soften as he smiled at her. She took the plate from his hand her fingers brushing against his and gives him a smile in return. Dark eyes meet each other for a brief moment. Then she’s gone, moving to another customer with their plates in her hand. 

Her fingers were just as soft as they appeared. 

Flip looked across the table. 

“Much better,” Benny hummed around his coffee. 

They finished their coffees and left; the lunch rush crowd starting to fill up every available seat. Flip doesn’t catch a glimpse of a soft yellow mini as they walk out the door. 

The drive back to the west side of town was quicker than Flip remembered, though that might be due to the fact they weren’t towing anything. The station was busy when he walked in, phones ringing off the hook. Flip ignores it all in favor of going to the intelligent section to check if he has any new cases waiting for him. It’s relatively bare, just two other guys sitting around. 

The day goes by fast though Flip chalks that up to him trying to feel the expressions that pass over his face. He can sense the way his brow draws down when he frowns or how they move up just a centimeter when he smiles without teeth. If he looked stupid the guys didn’t say anything as they continued to type at their desks. He’s given a drive home by another officer who lives in the same direction as him. 

The pounding on his bedroom door jerked him awake and his father was coming into his room, ceiling light blinding him for a second. He used his hand to shield his eyes. Blinked away the spots and saw that it was barely 12:10 a.m.

“Get the fuck up Phillip,” he heard while he was still trying to just wake up. His father was pulling at the covers, throwing the sheets off of him. Flip tried to grab onto something. 

“It’s midnight,” he mumbled as he moved to sit up. 

“Yeah? The station just called, you need to get downtown, now,” he said, tossing Flip’s old blue uniform at him. He doesn't even know if it still fits. 

“What?” He makes an attempt to put on his pants with his eyes closed, but they keep catching on his ankle. “Why?”

“Because of that fucking riot downtown.” He yelled at Flip like he’s stupid. How dare Flip not know the people in town had planned to riot into the night after he went to bed. 

Flip buttoned up his top, it was a little tight around his chest, so he grabbed an extra flannel to keep himself warm. He stepped into his boots in the living room as his father changed the tv station until it didn’t look overrun with static. 

A station had finally cleared. 

“- House is calling it the ‘long, hot summer of 1967,’ so far there have been roughly 98 riots that have torn through communities around the nation. The president is scheduled to speak in the morning at -” 

His father was fuming and Flip does not understand why this was somehow his fault. 

“It’s those damn negros trying to ruin America,” he said looking at Flip like he’s supposed to be doing something about this. Flip credits him for some amount of composure because negro is definitely his second most used n-word. 

He pushed his hair behind his ears and secured his hat. It’s tighter than he remembered though he had not worn one in months, and his hair was longer now. He’s out the door before he remembers he doesn’t have his cruiser back, but he would rather walk to town than face his father. 

He’s a few blocks away when he spotted another cruiser coming his way. He recognized the numbers on the side as it came to a stop in front of him. He heard the doors unlock right as he goes to open the passenger side slipping into a worn leather seat. 

Will was trying to hold in a yawn when Flip slammed the door shut. The radio was calling for backup near the east end of downtown. There were two styrofoam cups of coffee between them. Flip grabbed the one closest to him taking large sips; it’s black, but it does the job of waking him up. 

“Better finish that by the time we hit downtown, the chief said we’d be out until sunrise,” Will commented, making a u-turn to head in the right direction. 

Flip choked on his coffee.

“The fuck are we doing for five hours?” He asked. 

“Hell if I know, standing around watching those animals burn the city,” Will reached to turn the radio up. 

Flip remained silent at that opting to watch the sleepy houses pass by, the only light coming from the far and few street lights they passed. He kept sipping his coffee and it’s not nearly as good as the diners’. 

_No_ , Flip could feel his mind physically stop where his next thought was going. 

“Can we at least stand near a diner, so I can get better coffee,” he teased.

Will laughed as they hit the westside of downtown and Flip could see that the stores he regularly shopped at were boarded up. Did everyone know about this riot but him?

“I’ll let my wife know she makes shit coffee,” he commented with a smile. The cruiser was gradually slowing down as Flip saw small fires in the distance. Will parked a few yards away from what Flip assumed was a row of officers separating the east and west sides of downtown. He could faintly hear chanting coming from the other side of the line. 

“So, we’re just standing there right?” Flip asked even though Will was checking his gun then used it to motion toward the face shields on the dash. 

“They stay in line,” Will put on the shield, “we’ll stay in line.”

Flip grabbed his own shield and sighs, knows they were in for a long night and his next day off wasn’t for another two days. 

By morning Flip wasn’t sure if he’s standing in the right line, but he’d rather not be in cuffs headed to the station like the men they have piled in the van. Will handles each arrest rough, more carelessly when the people he’s cuffing don’t look like them. Flip’s positive some of them can’t be eighteen yet, so they’ll have to deal with parents when it’s time to process bails. 

Will’s left for the station after Flip tells him that his cruiser is getting fixed up just a few blocks away. He changed into his spare flannel and walked towards the east end. 

The fires had been put out and there was a little trash in the street but other than that the stores were opening up. He’s the first customer walking through the garage lot but doesn’t spot the cruiser anywhere. 

At the front desk, an older gentleman looking to be the same age as his father greeted him. 

“I dropped out a police cruiser yesterday, but I don’t see it outside,” Flip explained. Maybe they’ve already taken it back to the other lot. 

“I had the men park it in the back last night,” he said moving towards another door. Flip follows him out the back where two cars are parked, one covered with a tarp. 

“Didn’t want anything to happen to it,” he continued pulling the tarp off revealing the aged cruiser. 

“I appreciate that sir,” Flip placed his shirt and hat on the hood so he can grab his wallet. 

“It’s already been handled, by the shop,” the man clarified, which caused Flip to pause for a moment, “there’s a back entrance you can leave through.”

Flip knew his face showed nothing, but he can feel his cheeks flush at the suggestion. He pulls out a few dollars anyway and pushes them into the man’s hand. 

“Thank you,” Flip gave him a smile before he took the keys back. 

The engine started as best it could and rolled out of the lot. Flip parks it on the small side street looking at the diner through his windshield. He still needs a coffee if he even wants to get through half the day. Without a second though he’s walking across the street and into the diner. 

It’s mostly empty given the fact that the sun has only been up for maybe two hours. He looks at the staff clocking in at the front but no one looks familiar. He takes a seat at the bar when the same older woman from yesterday greets him.

“Back again I see,” she smiled. He assumes she remembers him because he doesn’t fit the appearance of her regular customers.  
  
“Yes ma’am,” Flip smiled, because he _is_ friendly, “do you guy have takeout boxes by chance?” He glances back when the door chimed but it was just an elderly couple walking in. 

“Yes we do hun, what would you like?” She responded, this time she doesn’t write down his order. 

He drinks one cup of coffee there and gets the second to go along with a ‘railroad’ breakfast because he’s starving and needs the carbs. No soft yellow dress, small gold hoops, or a wild ponytail pass through the door while he waits for his food. He takes the box, gives her more money than it’s worth, and heads to the station where he can see a crowd of people waiting inside and outside of the building. 

Flip decides to enter through the back as his pile of food and hot coffee doesn’t seem like the right image to have at the moment.   
He drops his food off at his desk and heads to the holding cell, coffee in hand, to find Will forcefully dragging out a teenager. There’s about ten in each cell. An older officer ignores one of the boys asking for water. 

Flip was not about to start his day like some kind of jackass and pull a water cup from on top of the jug the officer was standing right next to. He feels the man’s eyes on the side of his head while he fills the cup. If Flip’s grin has a mean edge to it when he looks at the other officer, that’s his business. He walks around the officer and offers the boy the cup. Flip’s pretty sure he should be sitting in class rather than a holding cell when he spots the small high school crest stitched over his heart. He stares at Flip for a beat then slowly takes the water.

“Thank you, sir,” he mumbled. 

“You’re welcome,” Flip loudly replied for the other man to hear. 

He eyes the officer one more time sipping his coffee noisily for good measure before he walks away only to stop in the doorway that leads to the front desk area because he knows those delicate ring covered fingers filling out a release form and hears that voice explaining the paperwork to possibly her father. She’s wearing jeans this time, and Flip can see the way the denim is _stretching_ across her thighs. There are multiple colorful flowers that line the seam, from the wide flare cuffs to the side of her knee, following the curve of her – 

And Flip Zimmerman has _never_ ducked into a filing closet so quickly in his life, when dark chocolate eyes appear to look in his direction.

Will walked pass the filing closet when he sees Flip just standing there.  
  
“What are you doing?” He asked. 

“Drinking my coffee,” Flip said like it’s not odd to be standing in a dark room avoiding the outside world.

“Well hurry up and finish, these people are starting to piss me off,” he continued down the hallway back to the holding cell. 

When Flip sees Will again he’s pulling the same boy Flip had given water to out of the cell. He doesn’t know what he’s doing when he stops Will. 

“I got him, why don’t you take a break,” Flip found himself saying because the more restless Will gets the rougher his grip is. He practically shoves the kid at him with a grunt. 

“You okay?” Flip questioned him. The kid stares at him, so he tries to give him a reassuring smile. He lets him stand on his own. 

“Thank you again for the water, sir,” he said waiting for Flip to take him to the front. 

“Flip,” he explained, put a hand between them like they were some how having a normal conversation. Maybe he’s taking his friendliness demonstration a little too far.

The kid hesitated and that was understandable. As far as Flip’s concerned he probably hasn’t had the best experiences with a cop in the past 5 hours. His handshake is a lot firmer than Flip would have expected.

“Ricky,” it was a small smile, but a smile nonetheless. 

It’s not protocol and certainly against the rules, but Flip steps aside and tells him just to walk to the front on his own.

Flip follows him halfway because he forgot his coffee in the filing closet. When he goes to close the door behind him he sees Ricky walking towards his family. Towards _her_. He hugs the girl from the diner tightly saying something into her cloud-like hair, then moves to hug who Flip assumes is his father. Flip can’t even remember the last time his father so much as looked like he wanted to hug him. Maybe when he was about to leave for Vietnam. 

She hands him a colorful jacket then ruffles his short afro before she’s moving back to the front desk to collect her copy of the paperwork. Their eyes meet when she glances over to the doorway and Flip, coffee in hand, has nowhere left to hide.

He’s not sure if smiling at her would be appropriate given the circumstance as to why she’s at the precinct. He tries to give her some kind of smile regardless. She gives him a look that all his years of pre-detective training can’t help him figure out. Ricky turns from his father and grabs her arm pulling her away from the desk; away from _him_. 

Ricky eyes him at the doorway while they shuffle past other parents, nods his head slightly and they’re gone. Out the door, down the steps and walking across the parking lot.

Her high waisted flare jeans with flowers running up the side, might be the only thing Flip thinks about for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for showing an interest in this fic. Since my only job is watering my own plants (at the moment), I'll try to update at least once a week.  
> Find me on [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/jennifercbelcher/) & [tumblr](https://modestefemme.tumblr.com/)


	3. Thank You Slice

_1967_

"-bridge by the old water mill.”

The static from his listening device was beginning to give Flip a headache. He discreetly tried to move one side of his headphones to uncover his ear. Detective Hunt and himself had been sitting in a rather tiny car for over two hours listening to the bland conversation. His knees were starting to cramp in the tight space the detective’s Ford Bronco provided.

He eyed the detective that he was currently training under, who sat behind the wheel with more focus than even Flip had at the start of the night. The notepad in his lap was filled with various scribbles, circled words and arrows pointing to other key moments. Flip didn’t need to look down at his barely half-filled notepad to know whatever keywords they were listening for he had obviously missed them.

It was a simple investigation; the station had been given a tip roughly a month ago that money had started to go missing at the local bank. Nothing large enough to alert state authorities, yet. Flip just needed to keep his eyes open for a few more hours or until Detective Hunt was satisfied with the information they had collected. The lulls in the conversation that came through the wire were starting to put him to sleep. 

His previous days off were spent mowing the lawn and working on his truck. He didn’t mind spending half the day at the auto shop on the West end of town with Benny fishing through ‘lightly used’ tires for the truck. It was mowing the lawn in the morning before the sun could burn him that irritated him the most. 

The fact that he also had to listen to his father sit on the front porch and complain about the ‘colored’ man his construction company had hired the other day was also frustrating. Flip was able to ignore his hateful racist comments for the most part. He was becoming acutely aware just how causally his father slipped in a slur when his mother wasn’t around to provide a distasteful look. 

The engine came to life in front of him as Flip’s eyes snapped open. In the time between his first and last blink, the cars they had been watching were pulling away from the tree-covered hideout leaving just Detective Hunt and himself. Flip looked out the corner of his eye to see that his notepad was closed and tucked into a folder along with the various pens the man kept with him.

“I reckon that’s enough intel for the night,” Detective Hunt said. He pulled out a cigarette, rolling down the window before lighting it. The orange tip illuminating his eyes just enough for Flip to see the hard look being sent his way. He used the gesture of looking for his own lighter as a way to avoid eye contact. Figuring if he was going to get chewed out for taking a quick nap during a stakeout he’d at least like a smoke to take the edge off. 

The Bronco lurched forward as they drove along dirt back roads. Detective Hunt was not a man known for his conversational skills, though Flip knew he wasn’t any better. They sat in silence until they hit the first paved street ten minutes later. 

“You should probably get some coffee rookie,” Hunt said through a long drag. Flip turned towards him, opening his mouth before the man continued. 

“Since you have to rewrite all these notes before noon,” he finished as they came to a stoplight. 

Rewriting notes was a time-consuming job, but trying to _read_ Hunt’s notes was a nightmare. His handwriting made more sense if his occupation was that of a doctor in the city, not a small-town detective. Flip held his tongue if his only punishment was rewriting notes he would gladly take it.

Hunt handed him the folder which contained all the files along with his notepad once they reached the station. Flip headed for his desk to retrieve his keys. It was a normal night, the phones at the precinct had yet to ring following last month’s protests. As far as Flip knew the protests had moved to another town. He pocketed two more pens: blue and red, before walking through the back exit to his cruiser. 

The vehicle hadn’t made any odd sounds or produced clouds of steam since he picked it up from the shop at the East end of town. He threw the folder and pens on the passenger seat. As he pulled out the lot he thought of any place he could go to look over his notes where he wouldn’t be disturbed. It was nearly half-past ten. 

The ice cream parlor was probably the worst choice given that the hot weather and end of school meant it would be full of teenagers. That also meant the pizza place near the barbershop had to be crossed off his list. Flip subconsciously makes a left when the light turned green. The diner near his house had too many women and families his mother gossiped with from church. The barbecue shack housed most of his father’s work friends. Despite the hot weather Flip wanted something warm and comforting. 

He slams on the brakes when he realizes exactly what street he was currently on. He spots the very garage the cruiser was parked at just a few weeks ago. He pulls into a spot around the corner, turns off the cruiser, and places his head against the steering wheel letting out a loud groan. 

_No._

Flip had been doing so well as to not think about this side of town. To not think about the time he was hiding in a filing closet. Not thinking about curls that might tangle from his fingers. Smooth cinnamon skin that smelled like-

Flip released a heavy sigh. He moved to restart the cruiser as he looked at the diner through his rearview mirror. It _did_ look relatively empty; lacking a major twenty-something crowd. He leaned back into his seat eyeing the folder to his right. Flip shook his head making a second attempt to leave the cruiser when he let out a deep yawn. So strong his eyes watered at the end. 

Flip cursed under his breath, grabbed the folder and pens, slammed the door with more force than necessary, and marched across the street. He looks back at the cruiser, tucked around a dark corner; trusts that Benny is right about it being relatively safe. 

Just a quick coffee was all he needed. 

The bell chimed softly as he opened the door. He glanced around the diner defeated that his suspicions were correct, it was hardly packed with any customers. A group of men around his age were crowded in a booth laughing into cream sodas playing a card game, a few customers sat at the bar and he could see the back of a man’s head in the very rear booth. 

He gave a short wave when a waitress motioned for him to sit anywhere while she took a customer's order. Flip tried not to stare at her dark chestnut skin that seemed to glow under the lights or her raven tight curls that fell around her head. He dropped into his seat a booth away from the man in the back. He opened the folder and started to spread his papers out to at least _look_ like he come to do some type of work. 

Flip saw the lone waitress head towards him before she pushed open the kitchen door to speak with someone. She laughed as the door closed behind her, then picked up a coffee cup and half-full coffee pot. Her uniform was the same kind of soft yellow dress button to the top. She wasn’t wearing an apron though. 

“Evening sir,” she began, “I’m about to clock out but someone else will bring your food to you.”

Flip doesn’t allow his mind to roam. She places a menu in front of him along with the cup and fills it. 

“I’ll give you a minute,” she states. 

“Actually,” Flip goes to hand her back the menu, “do you guys have biscuits and gravy?”

“Sausage gravy alright?” She responds, Flip notices she doesn’t move to write anything down. 

He nods. She takes the menu from him, “Should be out in a few.”

She walks past him to chat with the man behind him. 

“Little Ricky,” Flip pauses at the paper he was trying to read. “I’m going home, so ask one of the boys up front to help you with your applications.” 

"Thanks for your help, Simone," Ricky responds.

Flip hears the kiss she places on his head then walks back towards the bar. He watches her repeat his order at the kitchen window as she grabs her apron from the counter to clock out by the front.

One of the young men playing cards stands up pulling the wooden chair he was previously sitting on under the time clock. Flip watches the way he smiles when he grabs her hand as they move to leave together. How the man holds the door open for her and a chorus of kisses and hollering follow. The man laughs as the door closes behind them.

Flip stares long after they're gone and the remaining men go back to their game. The others at the bar seating announce their departure to the cook at the window, who places what looks to be Flip’s biscuits and gravy on the silver counter space. 

The swinging door opens and Flip is determined to start working on something. He gets as far as writing the date and time at the top of a new sheet of paper when he sees the plate his meal is on gingerly hovering over the table, unsure of where to land among the scattered pages. Flip shoves a few files to the side, wrinkling a few pages to make room. 

He’s stumbling over an apology without looking up. He can see the way the yellow complements her skin. She places his food behind his half-empty coffee cup. A finger decorated with a ring is still touching the edge of his plate as she stands there. Flip can feel his ears warming when he peers up at her. 

She’s giving him the same stare from that morning at the station. Her brows, which are a little thicker than most of the women Flip knows, takes on a straighter appearance as she looks from his face to the papers on the table then back. Flip knows she can see the Lincoln Police Department stamped on all the pages. 

He’s not sure what to say in this type of situation; no police training or high school summer keg party have prepared him, and she’s just staring so intensely at him. The soft chime of the door has her looking over her shoulders at two mid-aged women both in yellow dresses beginning to clock in.

When she trains her eyes back on Flip the look is gone. She gives him a small smile.

“I’ll be right back to refill your coffee, officer,” she says. 

Flip can’t tell if she could hear the way his heart seemed to stop beating or the deep pump it takes to start back up. He seizes the moments he’s given; when she grabs empty glasses from the men up front and walks through the swinging door, to stack his papers in a more presentable fashion. The other waitresses walk through the door carrying more cream sodas for the table. 

Flip downs the rest of his coffee as he watches her fix the string she's using to pull her hair back. A few pieces of hair, spring loose and frame her face. She moves to wash her hands in the little sink then grabs the coffee pot. 

Flip wonders if he can arrest himself when he notices her bright white shoes contrast her cinnamon skin. That her socks are two different colors and she’s wearing a bracelet around one ankle. 

She takes hold of his coffee cup, filling it slowly. Her smiles are still small when she meets his eyes. 

“Is there anything else I can get you, officer?” She asks. 

Flip enjoys his work at the Lincoln Police Department, can’t wait to be promoted to Detective Phillip Zimmerman, but the way she addresses him only by his title doesn’t sit well with him. 

“Flip,” he supplies instead. He watches the way it takes her a moment to understand what he’s implying. Her smile widens just a fraction. 

“Flip,” she repeats, her lips push out slightly as she says it.

“Well, Flip,” she pauses considering the stack of papers to his left, “I’ll come back to refill your coffee later.” 

She moves away from him, stopping a brief moment.

“Carmen,” she states then fully turns to walk back to the counter, clearing off the dirty dishes that were left behind. 

He repeats it to himself, but it doesn’t sound as pleasant as the way she had said it.

Flip’s _trying_ not to watch the way her hips move as she works. The way she playfully throws a towel she was using to clean the table at one of the men. 

Flip eats the best plate of biscuits and gravy he has ever had. He’ll have to tell Benny this place beats that diner he went to in Georgia, though he has a feeling Benny already knows. 

Carmen checks on him twice, once to refill his coffee and a second to take his plate. Each time her smile keeps widening until her dark eyes appear to close slightly at their corners. She still looks at the papers Flip has reshuffled across the table. The blue, black, and red pen marks covering various pages in notes and circles. 

He’s halfway through connecting an arrow when he notices someone standing next to his table. He turns his head up to meet Ricky’s rather surprised eyes. 

“Officer Flip?” He looks better outside a police station. He’s wearing a short-sleeved polo to combat the summer heat. 

“Hey Ricky,” Flip replies, settling back in the booth, papers gladly dismissed. 

“You’re more than welcome to join me,” he gestures to the open side across from him. 

Ricky hesitates for a second looking towards the front at the men deep in their game. He slides in putting his own paperwork alongside Flip’s.

He spots what looks like various universities with names he has never seen or heard of at the tops of the pages. Flip tries to angle his head to get a better look. He uses the spoon in his coffee to point at one application. 

“What’s Morehouse?” It’s a logo of a sun coming through the clouds. 

“It’s a liberal arts college in Georgia.” Ricky smiles, filling in a few lines of information. 

“I’ve never heard of them,” Flip thinks of his short stay while he was visiting Benny and doesn’t recall anything close to that name. 

Ricky blinks at Flip as a quiet laugh spills from his lips.

“It’s not really for, well, I mean it’s a college for,” he stops for a second collecting his thoughts, “it’s a black college.”

Flip looks past Ricky and sees one of the men from the table leaning up against the bar laughing with Carmen. The ease in her figure as she tucks a curl behind her ear only for it to spring back out. How she flicks the water droplets collected on her fingers at him. 

Flip can see where a college like that would be more comforting. 

“You sick of Nebraska that much?” Flip jokes sipping his coffee. It’s almost empty again. 

Ricky laughs too, shoulders loosen from the hunch he had while trying to explain the application. 

“If I go to college then I won’t be drafted,” Ricky says. Flip remembers all the guys in his unit that were there because of the draft. Being an only child Flip volunteer, he knew college was never in the cards; too expensive his father had told him. 

Flip looks over Ricky’s papers eyeing multiple essays he’s already written. 

“You know it’s best if each essay is different,” Flip recites what his guidance counselor had told him when he thought about applying, “if you traitor it to the college you have a better chance at getting in.”

Ricky makes a note of that on a separate piece of paper. 

“Did you get any letters?” Flip asks, “They help too.”

“My teachers said they’re too busy to write any,” Ricky sighs. 

Flip knows that’s bull is certain Ricky knows its bull too. 

“You know,” Flip starts leaning across the table like he has a secret, “getting letters of recommendation is always easier when a cop asks.”

Ricky’s eyes widen as he laughs. 

Flip sees Carmen glancing over at him as she’s waiting for the coffee pot to finish refilling. His eyebrows raise at the way she jerks the pot from the machine, coffee catching in the dish once she notices Ricky's head is in the same booth as him. She still walks with grace, but it’s a quicker pace. 

“Ricky,” it’s a different tone than before, less soft and honey slow. 

Ricky continues to fill out the line he’s working on. Flip doubts he would have the nerves to ever ignore her.

“Yes?” He’s moved to another page and she’s back to sporting that look on her face. Her grip around the coffee pot handle is tight. 

“I’m so sorry officer,” she’s looking at Flip now, back to eyeing all his paperwork. She’s refilling his cup without eye contact and Flip doesn’t understand what’s happening. Maybe when he’s alone tonight he’ll think about the way she bites the inside of her cheek. 

“Sometimes he’s a little too friendly,” she places the coffee pot onto the table and wraps her slender fingers underneath Ricky’s bicep. They barely cover half but Flip can see how her nails are digging into his exposed skin.

Ricky winces. 

“Ricky, leave the officer alone while he's working,” she uses her other free hand to gesture across the table. 

“Carmen stop,” Ricky whines. He looks every bit of seventeen; cheeks full and eyes alive.

Flip sees the attention this is starting to draw as the group of men from upfront are turning to look at them, one by one. The cook is eyeing them from behind the window and the two waitresses watch from their spots where they are sitting at the bar. 

Flip thinks of all the rules Detective Hunt had drilled into him; de-escalate the situation.

“Actually,” Flip starts catching Carmen’s eyes. He really could stare at them for hours. The way the light plays off the dark brown hues. Flip doesn’t think she’s wearing any makeup.

“I was helping him with his college applications,” Flip signals towards Ricky’s letters. 

“You weren’t bothering the officer?” She’s eyeing Ricky with a look he remembers that his mother used to give him as a child. 

“No, Officer Flip’s the one I told you about.” Flip perks up at the mention of his name; had she asked about him, he quickly rejected that thought. 

Carmen lets go of Ricky slowly. Flip catches a figure moving behind them and examines one of the men standing up. He really doesn’t want a fight. The coffee has only given him enough energy to finish his notes. Carmen notices him looking past her and turns her head. She smiles and waves for the man to sit. 

“It’s okay Michael,” she moves to partially block Flip from his view. “You know Ricky, always being nosy.” Flip sees the way she pinches Ricky’s cheek to silence him. 

Flip smiles though it’s forced, he hopes it’s convincing enough. Michael moves to sit back down in the booth. 

“I’m not nosy. It’s called using your resources,” Ricky argues. 

“You're annoying is what you are,” Carmen whispers under her breath and it’s the most forward thing she’s said since she first poured Flip a cup of coffee almost a month ago.

Flip feels his cheeks widen before he barks out a laugh. It comes so suddenly even he’s surprised by it. 

“Ricky wasn’t bothering you, officer?” She's smiling and it’s soft and honey slow like Flip likes.

“No,” she moves to refill his cup, “thank you, Carmen.”

He likes the way her name sounds when he’s speaking to her. The way her hands shake slightly causing the coffee to rush out the pot, but stopping before it sips. 

“You’re welcome,” she moves away from their table, hitting Ricky in the arm as she leaves. She goes to the table of men and Flip watches the way they stare. He gets it; he’s staring too.

Whatever she tells them has them laughing and finally resuming their game. Flip catches Michael’s eyes, it’s probably the first time since coming to the diner that he hasn’t felt welcome. 

“You got any sisters?” Ricky asks him, causing Flip to break eye contact. 

“No,” he reaches for a few creamers. Opening one to pour into his coffee. 

“You want mine.” It’s a statement meant to be taken as a joke and Flip misses the cup and pours creamer all over the counter. 

“I think,” Flip wipes up the small mess, “you should keep her.”

“You try sharing a room with her,” Ricky grumbles, taking Flip’s red pen to cross out a word in his essay. 

Flip most certainly does _not_ try to think about sharing a room with _her_. About a dresser littered with her rings. About pillows holding onto her unmistakably rich chocolate scent. Flip’s glad his train of thought stops as a plate is being placed in front of him.

Its a layered chocolate cake with four sections that are filled and topped with a creamy coconut-like frosting. There are pecans decorating the top. It’s a slice of German Chocolate cake. 

Flip looks up to meet Carmen’s eyes. She’s giving him that smile that starts to close the corners of her eyes. She reaches into her apron and pulls out a fork. It dangles between them as she holds it out. 

“On the house,” she informs him softly. 

“Where’s mine,” Ricky calls behind her. 

“Officer Flip,” she begins and he could get used to that title, promotion be damned, “was kind enough to give you that cup of water. It’s a ‘thank you’ slice.” She says placing the fork down after Flip fails to reach for it. 

She cuts her eyes back at Ricky, “Maybe if you did something kind, you’d get a slice from someone.”

She’s leaving him again before he can thank her. Sees the way the other women look at him as they hand dry drinking glasses. 

“Carmen makes the best German Chocolate in town,” Ricky sighs eyeing his plate. Flip blinks then inspects the cake again. 

“She made this?” He’s not sure how he asked the question with how quickly he moved to stuff a forkful in his month. 

“Yeah, every week one of the girls makes a cake,” Ricky explains. “I personally like my cousin Simone’s Hummingbird Cake.” Flip heard most of what he’s saying, but he’s mostly lost in thought. Trying to force himself to remember every bite, every pecan he inhales, the taste of chocolate, the flakes of coconut.

Flip doesn’t think every woman truly belongs in the kitchen, a few of the officer’s wives definitely don’t, but he won’t argue if Carmen never wanted to work a day after this. He doesn’t lick the plate because he has manners. 

Flip doesn’t realize how quickly time has passed. The men up front have been leaving one by one for the last few minutes. Ricky’s completed all his applications and Flip is quite impressed with his own revised notes. He watches Carmen walk from the kitchen, door swinging lightly with her apron in hand. She’s clocking out as she talks with the other women who have periodically been watching Flip all night with weary glances. 

She’s walking towards Flip, towards them, fiddling with her hair tie as her hips move from side to side. Without the apron Flip can see the faintest outline of her _thighs_ through the cotton material. 

“Come on Ricky, Michael’s giving us a ride home,” she whispers like Flip can’t hear her in the silent diner. 

Flip chooses to ignore the icy chill that comes over him despite the summer heat. He also chooses to ignore a very conservative thought his brain tells him. 

“I can give you a ride,” Flip starts off strong, but she’s giving him that unreadable look again, “if you’d like.” He weakly finished. 

Ricky perks up at the offer, gathering his papers, “That would be so sick! Could I sit up front?”

He’s looking at his sister, who’s already shaking her head. The smile she gives him does nothing to soften the blow.

“I appreciate the offer, but,” she’s searching for words, tucking that same curl behind her ear that immediately springs back out, “I think it’s best we said goodnight here.” 

Flip doesn’t want to say goodnight or goodbye. Doesn’t know when he’ll be able to sneak away to this diner again. Sneak away to see _her_. He’s already pushed himself away for a month. It’s mid-July, and the cruiser runs just fine.

“But we could ride in a real police car,” Ricky argues.

Flip appreciates his enthusiasm. But he watches the way Carmen tightens her hold on her apron. How she glances over at the women who don’t even try to look busy in favor of watching them. It’s best if Flip is just a friendly customer who happens to be a cop. It’s best to keep their distance. It’s a line Flip had forgotten since sitting down just a few hours ago. 

Flip feels the way his eyes drop for a moment. “Well, you don’t want to keep anyone waiting,” he smiles, gathering his own papers. The Lincoln Police Department stamps staring him back in the face like a brand. 

Carmen smiles as she tugs her brother along. Flip throws down some money, not leaving a tip. He gets the feeling the two women would not even mention it to Carmen.

“Maybe another time, Ricky,” she’s lying, but in that low, honey slow way that Flip can't be too upset. They move towards the door Flip following, not wanting to be alone with the other women. 

The night air is humid making Flip’s neck sticky. He sees Michael leaning against a black Cadillac parked a few cars down. He’s watching them. _Watching Flip._

Carmen pushes Ricky in front of her who huffs, “Michael always gives us rides home.” 

His irritation fans at the little spark of what Flip does not want to call hope within himself, because what is he hoping for exactly. 

“Michael’s our neighbor,” Carmen answers faintly, but she’s looking at Flip and _how_ is he supposed to take that information. From this height Flip has to tilt his head down to meet her eyes. 

She stops walking as Michael moves to open the door for Ricky who’s talking energetically about who knows what; something about his Morehouse application. 

“Thank you again,” she says as she moves to fiddle with her hair tie. 

“The application was easy,” Flip smiles. 

She’s watching Michael interact with Ricky as the two start playfully shoving each other. She pulls the hair tie out, a mixture of loose and coiled curls gently brushes the top of her shoulders. Flip knows he’s right about his fingers getting stuck in such a mane. 

She stops smiling for a moment, taking the time to really look at him.

“Thank you,” she states again, “for giving him the water.”

Flip realizes she has a habit of leaving before he ever gets a chance to really understand what she’s saying or a moment to reply. Michael closes the door behind her and walks around the car.

“Have a goodnight,” Michael calls out to him. Flip has a few guesses what he’d like to tack on to the end of that sentence. 

“Goodnight,” Flip waves. Ricky waves at him as they drive farther into the East part of town. 

Flip crosses the street to his cruiser moving to the passenger side, he sees a new stand and places his folder on top of it, so he can shoulder the door up. He turns to get the folder when he spots a ‘The New York Times’ paper inside the case. Normally Flip wasn’t one to read the paper, his father said it was too political and that the government was too in the pocket with negros now.

It’s the picture that catches his attention, a couple. It’s dated from last month: Tuesday, June 13, 1967.

> “Justices Upset All Bans On Interracial Marriage”
> 
> 9-to-0 Decision Rules Out Virginia Law – 15 Other States Are Affected
> 
> The Supreme Court ruled unanimously today that states cannot outlaw marriages between whites and nonwhites. The opinion by Chief Justice…

Flip puts the newspaper back in the stand, no need to add any more fuel too whatever is growing in his chest. He tosses the folder into the cruiser slamming the door. Detective Hunt was expecting him at the station sometime past noon. That would give Flip plenty of time to head to the shooting range before the briefing with their sergeant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was I eating German Chocolate cake while I wrote this? Maybe.  
> I am honestly still so overwhelmed by all this support.  
> I'm a little early, but Happy "Loving Day" everyone.
> 
> You can find me on [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/jennifercbelcher/) & [tumblr](https://modestefemme.tumblr.com/)


	4. Blue Raspberry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grab a snack because our boy Flip is in for a rather long and exhausting day.

_1967_

Detective Hunt was a well-prepared man. Everything he arranged was normally one step ahead in a broader strategy that he solely knew. If Flip had honestly thought all he needed to do last week was rewrite a few intelligence notes and files; maybe he really was not cut out to be a detective. 

Traffic citation duty was boring. While the summer season allowed him to write more speeding tickets; visitors and teenagers being the targeted crowd. Flip knew all the hot spots as they were the same roads Benny and he raced down as teenagers and even talked their way out of several tickets. 

No matter where Flip parked it meant he had to sit _in_ the cruiser, which still did not have any air conditioning. Flip’s raven locks were practically glued to his forehead. His thin plaid shirt was sticking to his chest and biceps. It was _sweltering_. 

He flipped through the citation book Hunt had thrown at him when he walked through the door at the start of his shift. He wasn’t allowed back at the station until he reached the ticket Hunt had marked to signify the end. 

He still had roughly ten more citations to give and with the mid-state fair having just rolled into town a few days ago, he figured he would be done within the next 2 hours. He leaned over to pop open the glove box and searched for his watch; it was his grandfather’s. An old and tattered beloved thing, one of the straps had ripped from when he wore it during a combat training session.

03:38

Flip was planning to celebrate finishing his truck with a six-pack down by the lake, waiting for a fish to bite. Instead, he was stuck writing citations then going to the fair with Benny and his wife, Natalie afterward. He liked Natalie. She was funny and talkative just like her husband. Flip had yet to know a silent moment when the pair were together. 

A red mustang flew past, unable to spot the cruiser parked on the other side of the bridge. Sometimes on rare occasions, Flip loved citation duty. He flicked the light on his dash. 

If Detective Hunt was impressed that Flip finished in a day he kept that to himself. He continued to smoke his cigarette as he looked over other files when Flip placed the booklet on his desk. He dismissed him with a wave of his hand as he scribbled at the corner of a page. Flip's learned not to stick around waiting for any kind of gratitude. 

He spots Will flirting with the woman the station had just hired at the front desk, wedding ring clear as day on his finger. He's not the biggest fan of Will's wife, she's outright nosy and always gossips with his own mother at the diner. He makes his presence known by clearing his throat when Will starts to lean heavily against the desk like he doesn't have to go home. 

Will ends the conversation, not looking the less bit guilty as he grins at Flip, following him towards the front door. 

“How was citation duty detective,” Will claps him on the back.

The late afternoon air seems to have dropped another ten degrees greeting them as the double doors are pushed open. 

“I’m going to die in that damn cruiser,” Flip mutters, moving to undo the first two buttons of his shirt. 

“You ever think of rolling the windows down?” Will’s grinning like Flip’s a rookie who can’t figure out how to take off his own safety. He elbows Will in the ribs as they walk down the steps. 

Flip unlocks the cruiser though it’s pointless as he did leave all the windows down. At least it won’t be as hot on the drive home. 

“Finished in a day,” Flip comments. 

“Would have taken you longer if Hunt didn’t like you,” Will says, reaching into his own cruiser for a soda he left in the cup holder this morning. 

Flip pauses eyeing Will. Waits for him to notice the lull in their conversation.

“You were the only cruiser scheduled near the north entrance of town today,” Will snickers around his straw and Flip doesn’t feel as accomplished as before. Feels more like a kid who realizes his dad has been letting him win at chess. The sergeant was in charge of all the cruisers, which meant Hunt had asked Flip to be scheduled alone. "Overheard Hunt saying that rookie Detective Zimmerman was on his own today."

“Fucking Hunt,” Flip leans his head against the hood of the cruiser. Precinct gossip in this town would turn Flip’s little nap incident to the scandal of the month and only grow like wildfire until the next new story hit. 

He taps his head against the cruiser again, knows Will has always been kind of an asshole, and probably told the entire station about today while he was burning up in the only cruiser on the north entrance of town. Has probably told all the rookies on top of that. Maybe Flip should let him flirt with the woman at the front desk, at least he'd finally start minding his own business.

“I’m sure everyone will forget about this come Monday,” he pats Flip on the back again, it's more of a mockery than anything. Flip hears him get into the cruiser behind him, listens as it starts up, and stays in his hunched position until he can’t hear it anymore. 

A few drinks and hot dogs with Benny and Natalie at the fair would definitely be the highlight of his day, possibly his week at this rate. Granted Natalie had been on a mission since Flip’s return from Vietnam to find him a wife among her massive group of friends. Admittedly a friend to Natalie was any woman who complimented one of her hand-stitched dresses. Flip wasn’t picky but he drew the line at any woman his mother had already been gossiping with; which left his options probably under ten. Benny was usually good at giving Flip a heads up when it came to any new girl Natalie might try to drag along to any type of gathering. A peaceful night sipping beers as a third wheel was just fine in Flip's book. He probably wouldn't even need to talk for most of the night if Benny had a story to tell.

Flip’s never felt more prepared for a damn setup than he was now; popping open the beer he tossed in his truck last minute because in the fair dirt parking lot he spots Benny and Natalie near the tow truck; with another woman by their side. He’s almost done with his beer when Benny spots his truck giving him a wave. Flip’s determined to finish the bottle before they get to him. He’s placing the empty bottle under the seat, barely letting go of its neck when Natalie starts tapping at his window as if he can’t see her and that wild red hair of hers. 

“Phillip,” she’s smiling up at him when he slowly gets out of his truck. He double-checks that the beer bottle is hidden under the seat before he’s locking the door. Her arms wrap around him quickly squeezing at his waist then pulling away. 

“You remember Elisabeth, right?” She tugs the woman to her side. Flip remembers arresting her brother for public intoxication and indecent exposure a few years back when they first moved to Lincoln from up north. Remembers the split lip he was sporting from getting head-butted in the face outside the bar too. 

“Hello, Elisabeth.” Flip smiles extending his hand for her to shake. He can see the look of disapproval Natalie is giving him; Flip’s not the hugging type so this should not be a surprise.

“Hello, Phillip.” Elisabeth smiles as she shakes his hand. Flip can tell she’s nervous as her other hand fidgets with the hem of her checkered patterned shorts. 

Flip doesn’t provide her with a different name, doesn’t see the point as to why. No point dating the woman whose brother called him a variety of colorful names.

Natalie’s moving them towards the entrance, pulling Elisabeth along as Benny walks with him. He shoots Flip an apologetic look gesturing to Natalie who’s chatting merrily with the man at the ticket booth. The line isn’t too long as they’ve arrived after some of the families, who are beginning to slowly head home. 

While Flip wasn’t a fan of the mid-state fair crowd, too many fights he had to break up when he was still a rookie and had to pull security shifts; he enjoyed the atmosphere, enjoyed the memories he had from his childhood. The ever-changing lights of the rides, the ringing and buzzing of the different booths, and even the sometimes questionable food.

Flip’s starting to feel the combined effect from the beer Benny had bought him once they walked through the entrance as an apology. It’s not a horrible night as they walk around. Natalie has mostly been gossiping with Elisabeth who looks back at Flip every few minutes between sips of her slushie. He mainly tries to avoid eye contact as he drinks his beer; it works for the most part. 

Flip learns that Elisabeth does in fact know his mother from eating at the same diner on the west end of town. Learns that his mother has apparently been very vocal about his lack of _domestic structure_. He's sure Elisabeth probably knows his shoe sizes with the way his mother gossips when ears are willing to listen. 

After the girls get off yet another ride, Flip mutters to Benny about being hungry from all the fair stands they keep passing, which turns into Benny loudly declaring that they find the pretzel stand. It takes a few minutes but they find it near the Ferris wheel. Flip sees the plan forming in Natalie’s mind, causing him to push Benny in the direction of the stand before she can leave him with Elisabeth. 

“Lizzie seems mighty fond of you,” Benny grins as they stand in line. Flip stares straight ahead like he needs to read over the two options on the cartoonish looking menu. 

“She’s fine,” vague is his only option, anything that even leans in the direction of possible interest would give Natalie a reason to schedule a second get-together or whatever this is. The line moves fast, multiple workers handing out orders and taking cash.

“Fine like,” Benny orders four pretzels and asks for a few cheese sauces for dripping. Flip takes two pretzels from the man behind the counter.

“The tires on the truck are fine,” Flip states. “They aren’t great, just fine.”

Benny’s laughing louder than necessary at such a poorly worded joke. 

“Lizzie’s sweet, but I told Natalie,” Benny shakes his head as they move back through the crowd towards the girls leaning against a chain-link fence separating a ride. He frowns at Benny’s flat response.

Elisabeth was halfway through reminiscing about the trip she had taken at the start of summer at her grandparent's lake house in Michigan when Flip notices the way she seems to abruptly stand up straighter, alarmed about something. 

“Oh,” Elisabeth cuts her eyes in the direction of the pretzel stand, “I didn’t know _they_ were allowed at the fair.”

Flip frowns, before looking in the direction of her suddenly icy stare. He wouldn’t call the sensation losing his breath, it’s that his chest physically cannot take in air. The thought had not independently crossed Flip’s mind, but now he’s wondering if she _is_ allowed at the fair.  
She’s with a girl Flip recognized from the diner, the one with dark smooth skin and short curls.

He’s obviously fixated on her because Elisabeth clears her throat and slurps her half-empty slushie loud enough for Flip to hear over the machines behind them. He’s not sure if he’s frowning when he turns to look at her, but she’s avoiding his eyes for a moment and looks over at them again.

“Did you know they let black people in?” Elisabeth outright asks him pointing like she’s at some kind of human zoo. He sees Carmen and the girl standing in line for cotton candy, it’s barely one stand over from the pretzels where Flip was standing only a few minutes ago. 

“They use a different entrance,” Benny states, biting into his pretzel, pulling Natalie into his side, “somewhere near the back I think.”

Elisabeth is still staring, which means Flip has every right to stare as well. Benny and Natalie spot who they’re looking at as Carmen laughs, turning her body slightly pushing the shoulder of the girl she’s with. Her hair is down, a curly mane brushing at her shoulders. 

“She’s pretty,” Natalie says, playing with her own thick wild curls.

“She is pretty,” Elisabeth parrots slowly, and Flip surprisingly does not want her to finish her sentence. Knows what she’ll say because he heard men at the office mumbling the same phrase when mothers and sisters came to the precinct to pick up their sons and brothers; especially after the riot. Can feel the same itch starting to crawl under his skin from such a blatant phrase. It's an uncomfortable awareness that has more to do with what he's not than what she is; he's been trying not to think too deeply about the uneasy feeling in his chest since he left the diner. 

“For a _black_ girl.” 

Benny opens his mouth and Flip tosses his pretzel in the trash can near him with a little more force than necessary. Benny’s raising an eyebrow at him and Natalie laughs softly; uncomfortably, but she’s watching him too; observing his reaction. No one says anything for a second. Flip doesn't even care what Natalie will have to say about his behavior when she sees him next.

“Prettier than you,” Flip mutters pushing himself away from the fence, “I’m going to get another beer.”

He doesn’t wait for anyone’s reply as he walks away. He’s halfway to the small bar tent when he notices Benny from the corner of his eye. He’s looking over at Flip every few steps but keeps his mouth shut. They stand in line for a few minutes in silence, just the sound of the fair continuing around them.

“Well, I don’t think that was Lizze’s best moment.” Benny motions for two beers when the cashier looks over at them, not quite taking his eyes off of Flip.

“You think,” Flip says distantly, reaching for his cup; it's not as cold as earlier, assuming that the stand was starting to run low on ice this late into the night. It's meant to be more of a joke, but there's no real push to it.

“I _thought_ she was your type,” Benny says, grabbing his beer. He proceeds to step in front of Flip for a moment, still staring at him with a questioning look. 

Flip doesn’t appreciate what Benny’s implying; doesn’t like that he himself chooses not to deny it either. Instead, he sips at his beer, looking around at the rides and stands. He can feel the way the silence between them stretches with a heavyweight. 

“She is,” Flip says around another sip. At this rate, he’ll be finished before they even leave the stand. 

“ _Or_ ," Benny analyses, "she was.”

He turns away walking ahead as Flip stops in his tracks in front of the face painting stand. He takes a small sip looking around at the people laughing and talking; at the couples kissing and holding holds; at the small line behind the stand that reads _, ‘for colored only’_ for the bathroom. 

Flip’s half done with his drink when he rounds the corner. Benny's standing next to Natalie who's rubbing at Elisabeth's arm. He can tell she's trying to cheer her up, and he slows his pace down to buy more time. Flip feels a little bad because Elisabeth is pretty; beautiful actually, and maybe she _was_ his type.

He opens his mouth to form some kind of apology, but Benny shakes his head as discreetly as possible. Maybe it's for the best. 

"I think we should just call this a night," Natalie announces, "looks like we've all had enough to drink." She's giving Benny a pointed looked and he sighs pouring out the rest of his beer into the trash can. Flip figures if he's somehow the bad guy in this very small-minded scenario then he's going to enjoy the rest of his drink. He takes even more deliberately slow sips when Natalie fixes him a look. 

They move to head in the direction of the exit and the thought that Natalie might still try to get Flip to give Elisabeth a drive home makes him pause. He's not apologizing; he’s already decided, even if he was a little harsh. Yet, the idea of Elisabeth being the first woman to sit in his truck also leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He's spent months on that truck and to let her slide up on the leather next to him just isn't right.

"I'll see you guys around," Flip says, stopping at the fair exit. "I'm going to go look for the restroom."

"We can wait," Natalie is quick to respond with Elisabeth giving him these eyes that Flip wishes he could fall into, but he _can’t_.

"I need to stop by the station after," he takes a step back away from them, "paperwork." 

Flip waves them off after Benny lightly pulls Natalie along and begins searching for some type of sign that will direct him to the restroom, it wasn't a complete lie. After a few minutes of wandering around, he spots the blue signs near the roller coaster. It’s not the cleanest restroom and Flip’s mindful not to touch too many things as well as washing his hands twice before leaving. 

The whole fair is practically a maze and Flip can’t remember if he was supposed to go left or right. It’s also a circle; he’ll find an exit soon. He’s watching the lights, trying to clear his mind, and just enjoying the smell coming from the funnel stand when he spots familiar curls. 

Carmen’s sitting on a bench possibly eating the same cloud of cotton candy Flip saw her buying earlier in the night. She’s wearing a colorful swirl patterned mini. Flip can see from the roller coaster lights when they change to a yellow hue that her fingers are tinted blue from the cotton candy. 

Flip takes a second to decide if he should just turn around and find the exit. He looks down at his jeans, how the edges are slightly worn out and his boots are covered in dirt and grass, his blue plaid shirt is untucked but wrinkle-free. It’s not his best look, but it’s not his worst either. 

And he really should have walked away when he had the chance because when he looks up from his work boots she’s staring at him. Cotton candy hovering in front of her lips, roller coaster lights ever-changing and illuminating her face. Flip watches her push the blue sugar pass her lips; she gives him a soft smile, pauses for a beat before moving her fingers to softly wave at him.

Is she waving him _over_ or just waving to be _polite_. No one is really paying attention, either too drunk or hugged up with another and Flip’s legs have apparently decided she’s waving him over. The distance between them is significantly less than Flip would like when he’s standing just a few feet in front of her and still hasn’t decided what to say. 

“Hello Flip,” he almost misses it over the roar of the coaster behind her. If he looked like he was debating about whether he should take a few more steps and sit down next to her or remain standing where he was, Carmen makes the decision herself by standing. She looks up at him or rather above him and Flip remembers what cap he’s wearing, the one Benny bought him for his birthday last year: ‘Truckers of America.’ It's as All-American as Flip could get in the moment without adding a flag. 

He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous, why seeing her outside the diner feels different; feels more real. Makes her and whatever Flip is trying not to name _real_. Maybe Flip’s a little more buzzed than he originally thought because he hasn’t said anything to her but gazed into her dark deep eyes. She lets out a small laugh that fills the space between them and Flip can see that her lips are a little blue from the sugar.

“Cotton candy?” She’s offering him a piece tilting the cloud of blue in the space between them. She wiggles it a few times when he remains still. He finally reaches across to pluck a small piece, popping it into his mouth. It’s blue raspberry and sticky sweet. 

She doesn’t lower her hand, allowing him to take another piece. Watching the spun sugars pull apart like spider webs. She seems more relaxed as they bath in multi-colored lights. 

“Where’d your friends go?” She questions, her head tilts barely to one side as she looks up at him. Flip wonders when she spotted him; before he spotted her or after. During Elisabeth’s monologue of Michigan and its many lakes and summer sunsets or the backhanded comment regarding her looks. Had she seen Flip depart in a silent sense of irritation. 

She looks past him as if to emphasize her question.

“They had to leave,” he whispers. There’s no need to lower his voice if anything he should raise it to be heard over the roller coaster. The carts seem to be slowing down, ending its loop.

“All of them?” Flip doesn’t know who she’s trying to point out, has a feeling it might be Elisabeth, but doesn’t know how to react. There’s nothing to say about Elisabeth, but there are no set instructions to whatever they are toeing at here. 

“Where’d your friend go?” Flip parrots back, smiling softly. If she’s not going to hide the fact that she saw him prior to this moment, then neither would he.

“They went to stand in line for the Ferris wheel,” her fingers move to tuck a curl behind her ear, the same one Flip knows springs back after a few seconds. He looks back at the giant wheel in the center of the fair, sees that it's just starting back up. Figures the slow rotation of the electronic wheel gives him a few minutes.

“Did you want to walk around?” Flip asks, he’s thankful the lights from the roller coaster change to a red hue, camouflaging his warming cheeks, positive his ears might also hold a rosy tint. 

Carmen’s smile slowly disappears, her lips taking on a straighter appearance. She looks over her shoulder at the lone bench she was sitting on.

“I’m supposed to wait for them here,” she gestures with her cotton candy. Her rings catching the light of the roller coaster as it roars back to life, wheels pulling the carts forward up a large ramp.

“Just a short walk,” Flip doesn’t know why he’s pushing for a few moments with her. To see her in motion, for the lights to move over her body as she walks alongside him, to leave footprints in the dirt together.

“Five minutes?” Carmen supplies.

“Five minutes,” Flip says, he can feel his eyes crinkle in the corner. Five minutes wasn’t a large amount of time, but it was a start.

Flip looks around at their surroundings, it’s less crowded in their current area, the roller coaster the only source of light. He angles his head to one side motioning her to follow him back the way he came towards food stands and glowing lamps that line their path. 

They walk in silence for a few moments, each passing second ticking down at the time Flip is wasting. He’s a detective and only questions that hold a slight interrogation edge seem to cross his mind. He notices that despite their lack of conversation Carmen seems to be enjoying their walk. Her smile has returned to sit tenderly on her face, her eyes taking in the crowd and colorful stands they pass. 

“You must be real busy,” Carmen comments, moving to walk behind Flip for a minute as they walk through a large crowd, “haven’t seen you at the diner.” 

Flip’s height gives him the advantage of slowing his pace without her noticing. He hasn’t been on the east side of town since last week. His days blending together filled with tedious paperwork, answering incoming phone calls regarding his current investigation about the bank and late-night stakeout on the outskirts of town with Hunt. 

“Didn’t think you'd noticed,” Flip scratches at the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, needs something to occupy his hands, but he doesn't know how she would feel about his smoking. 

“You’re like an elephant in the room, hard not to miss,” she teases, plucking a small ball of blue sugar from the cotton candy in her hand, “and the girls say you give bad tips.”

Flip feels both his brows raise at such an accusation. Maybe the women would have given her the tip, but Flip highly doubts that. People always have more negative things to say about a person than good.

“Well, the service was pretty bad,” Flip shakes his head, stepping over a discarded corn dog, catches the movement of her head tilting up out the corner of his eyes. He moves his right hand in front of them, using his finger to visualize an inch of space between his thumb and forefinger, squinting his eyes, “this one waitress gave me the _smallest_ slice of cake.”

Flip could see the way she moved a hand towards him, but changed directions midway and pulled another piece of cotton candy instead. Her laugh rains over him. It's more soulful than before, her eyes closing for a moment, and he’s certain she has the whitest teeth he has ever seen.

Flip watches the lights move across her. Sees her looking over at a booth: ‘Slappy’s Saloon Water Race Game.’ It's colorful with eight painted clowns lined up, orange water balloons attached to their heads. Stuffed animals stacked to the ceiling of the tent it's under.

“Did you want to play?” Flip moves toward the stand, it's a game he's been playing since he was a kid. Use to joke when he was a rookie about how his aim was so good.

“Oh no, I was just watching,” Carmen starts to walk away from the booth, but Flip’s already handing the man behind the counter, wearing a poorly assembled clown suit the amount needed to play. He eyes Carmen as she settles behind Flip at the last available seat between a little girl and a couple.

Flip ignores the man next to him practically burning a hole in the side of his head or his wife who moves her purse to the other side of her body. He grabs the small water pistol, its plastic with smooth edges from years of use. His finger barely fits near the lime green spring that unleashes the water. He gives him a tight smile before focusing on the light sequences that starts the countdown.

It’s over within two minutes. Flip smirks at the man next to him, though he can’t quite hear what he mumbles under his breath. He reeks of alcohol and he’s lucky Flip is in such a good mood. 

The clown turns to grab an animal for him pausing at the variety: tigers, monkeys, dogs, etc. He looks over his shoulder at Carmen who’s starting to look slightly uncomfortable by Flip’s side. Flip catches his eyes underneath all the white and red face makeup. 

He blinks as a black and white cow is tossed at him. Its beady eyes are staring up at him, one of the plush horns was sewn in the wrong direction. Flip turns to hold the farm animal out, sees the hesitation in Carmen’s eyes when their fingers dance softly together over the pattern plush before he’s pulling away and squats down to the little girl still frowning in her seat beside him. He’s barely at her eye line when he wiggles the cow in front of her to catch her attention. 

“Thanks for letting me win,” he whispers just for her to hear. She gives him a grin, her fingers sticky from whatever treat she’s eating. She cuffs her other hand over her mouth to whisper back a thank you. Flip smiles as she bounces off her seat, running towards her parents showing them her prize.

He catches Carmen’s eye when he stands back to his original height. She’s giving him the same honey-sweet smile from last week. Flip isn’t sure what comes over him, maybe the night sky provides him with more confidence than normal when he steps towards her.

“Did you want to head back,” Flip starts, gesturing to the way they came. It's less crowded, the gentle breeze a hair cooler than before indicating how late it’s starting to get.

“Or I could take you home?” Flip's not sure if it's a reckless question.

He’s been turned down already, doesn’t know why he’s asking her repeatedly. He doesn’t know why he’s hoping for a different outcome than the last time he tried. Flip wishes he knew what the small frown on her face meant when she looks at the sugary treat in her hand and not his eyes.

“Flip,” it's soft and slow and she's turning him down again.

“I drove my own truck, not the cruiser.” He explains as if the type of vehicle he drives is the real reason she's so reluctant. He wants _her_ to be the one to slide onto the leather; to click the seatbelt around her body and roll the window down to let the night air cool them. 

Carmen looks at him, then behind him; her eyes widen just a fraction. She’s moving past him and Flip turns to see the girl from the diner and another man walking towards them.

“You weren’t at the bench,” she reaches Carmen, grabbing at her arm, “we’ve been looking everywhere.” She’s turning her arm over, checks the other one, accidentally knocking the remaining cloud of cotton candy out of Carmen’s hand. It lands on the ground by her feet.

While the woman is focused on Carmen the man with her glances over at Flip. He’s fairly certain it's the same man from the diner who was playing cards. He’s not really meeting Flip’s eyes, more taking in his appearance. From the slightly worked edges of his cap to the loose fit of his plaid shirt to the dirt covering his boots. It’s a vast contrast to their colorful attire, bell-bottoms, and pattern short-sleeve button-ups. 

Flip catches the tail end of her concern, “I thought something happened to you.”

“Like what?” And Flip recognizes that he should have kept that question to himself when three sets of dark brown eyes turn on him. They each seem to share a similar look of disbelief or distaste towards him. Carmen uses her finger to gently pry out of her gripe.

“We were just going for a walk Simone,” Carmen explains calmly. She attempts to direct their eyes back to her as she tucks that single curl of hair Flip can’t help but want to touch behind her ear. "I promise."

She's smiling at Simone grabbing one of her hands and rubbing it. 

“I just lost track of time,” she says.

Simone stares at her for a few seconds then sighs before turning fully towards Flip, a stern look crosses over her face.

“Next time you want to talk," she starts, "you do it at the diner.” She nugs Carmen along, who glances back at Flip as they head in what he knows is _their_ exit.

She looks back at the fallen cotton candy then up at him, uses the hand Simone isn’t holding to wiggle her fingers at him. The smile she gives him isn't as cheerful. Flip watches the man grab hold of Simone's other hand as they depart. He feels the regret starting to creep in from not having the courage to give Carmen that backward horned cow with the beady eyes. 

They’re farther away, however, Flip still hears the suspicion in the man’s tone when he questions Carmen.

“Why were you talking to that _cop_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our mid-state fair was just canceled last week, so I’m reminiscing about fair food & animal plushies.
> 
> You can find me on [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/jennifercbelcher/) & [tumblr](https://modestefemme.tumblr.com/)


	5. Bees Envy Me

_1967_

His promotion comes and Flip has never been happier to return the keys belonging to that nightmare of a cruiser back to his chief. The old man even has the nerve to joke about finally retiring that piece of junk after all the months Flip had been complaining. He receives a desk nameplate from his sergeant that reads ‘Phillip Zimmerman’ in bold capital letters followed by ‘Detective’ in a smaller print underneath. 

_Detective Phillip Zimmerman_

Will surprises him with a beer that he sneaks into the cake box from the local bakery; it’s a Vanilla Crème, not German Chocolate cake — which is completely fine with him. Flip doesn’t need any reminders about the diner on the East side of town or his second experience with rejection at the fair. He hasn’t run into Elisabeth, though that’s due to the fact that he hasn’t gone to the diner on this side of town either. 

Hunt offers to give Flip a ride home which is so out of character that Flip questions if he’s trying to off him before he gets the chance to take his job in a couple of years. The Bronco is still small, but Flip doesn’t complain much as the heat from summer is finally starting to die down as autumn begins. Glen Campbell’s voice flows between them from the radio and Flip appreciates the relatively calm silence compared to the rowdiness of the day. 

Hunt pulls behind the Chevy in the driveway. Flip washed it yesterday in preparation for its first drive to the station tomorrow afternoon. He hands Flip a package, it’s not wrapped just a blue colored box with a simple lid to pull off.

He eyes the small box then Hunt who’s lighting a cigarette. Flip’s not going to comment on the older man’s smoking habits as he is getting just as bad. He pulls the lid off slowly, there’s white tissue paper busting out. He digs his hand in gripping something cold and plastic-like. Flip can’t contain his laughter as he stares as the hula girl dashboard doll in his hand. 

Hunt laughs through a long exhale. He gestures for Flip to dig into the box again. This time his fingers touch something stiff with little give. He pulls up wiggling it out from the tissue paper. Flip blinks for a moment taking in the more serious gift. 

It’s a leather shoulder holster for his gun; it's saddle leather that will eventually soften with wear and time. A surprisingly touching gift from a man he so openly admires. 

“You’re not a rookie anymore,” Hunt said around his cigarette, “starting tomorrow you’re on your own.”

He's not sure what to say exactly or what to do. Most of Hunt’s advice regarding his safety is usually wrapped in an insult or a lecture during training. He watches Hunt run his fingers through his graying hair. 

“Is this your way of dumping me old man?” Flip tries to lighten the mood, because now that Hunt has said it he doesn’t know if he’s actually ready to be on his own. Does not know if he wants to sit in his truck alone during a stakeout, as the department has yet to find him a partner. Does not know if he’s up to being his only source of information when he has to take intelligence notes. 

“Phillip,” he said, tilts his head to look him in the eye, a steely expression covering his face, “you need to be able to protect yourself.” 

“I know, Mark,” and Flip hasn’t called Hunt by his first name since he started five years ago; but he doesn’t like the implication of his advice. That somehow in a station full of cops Flip isn’t safe. The precinct is the safest place Flip could possibly work. 

“Don’t trust people quickly,” he said as he looked out the windshield. He tapped the end of his cigarette against the steering wheel. Flip’s not sure what he’s looking at besides the back of his truck. 

“And keep your private life, _private_ ,” he finished, emphasizes his point by unlocking the passenger side door. He reaches over grabbing the hula dancer from within the tissue paper and sticks it on his own dashboard. It shakes back and forth from the movement. 

Flip gets the sense that he’s missing something important. That Hunt doesn’t give this speech to all the detectives who have been promoted. Unfortunately Flip just wants to go inside and sleep for the next eight hours, figures whatever Hunt is trying to hint out will eventually reveal itself.

He gently placed the holster back in the box and secured the lid. He gives Hunt a nod; drinks in the sound of acoustic guitars and lost love before opening the door. 

“Good luck reading your own notes,” Flip teased right as he slammed the door on Hunt chastising him. He adjusts the box under one arm waving Hunt off with the other. 

He takes smaller steps up the driveway noticing the light from the living room is still on. Flip figures he only needs a few more months to save up enough money to buy his own place, hopefully on the Northside of town. He’d been eyeing a modest two-bedroom that Benny informed him would be for sale come next summer. One of the older men at the auto repair shop was retiring and moving down to Florida. He figures the house only needed a fresh coat of paint and a proper fence to be good as new.

It’s half-past ten by the time Flip drags himself away from the station later that week. The parking lot lights buzz above him as he fiddled with his keys for a moment; catches his reflection in the window. Thankfully he doesn’t appear as tired as he felt. Hunt really made being a detective look easy.

His fingers gripped the truck door handle tight; quickly opening the door before shutting it at the same speed. He stared back at his reflection again, arms exposed under his military-issued crew neck t-shirt. The air conditioning at the station had been stuck on high for the past few days thanks to Will's constant complaining about the heat. Though it did give him a reason to throw on a flannel until he had to toss it off once he was back outside and under the sweltering sun. 

With a heavy sigh Flip opened his truck door again this time sliding onto the leather and placing his folder and flannel on the seat. He doesn’t give himself a pep talk as he drove through the sleepy town. Instead, he tried focusing on the music playing through the radio as he made a left turn. He keeps his eyes locked straight ahead only focusing on the path in front and not the structures that change around him. 

The truck slows to a roll when the auto shop garage comes into view. Flip parked by the faded yellow newsstand on the corner across the street. He was specifically told that if he wanted to talk the diner was his only option. Flip’s halfway to the diner when he has to go back to collect his folder. Checks his hair to give himself an extra few seconds. Exams his face in the truck’s side mirror. There’s a shadow of dark stubble near his chin and above his lips. He can't decide if he wants to keep shaving or just finally grow it out.

He can hear the door chime even across the street; sees a few men walking down the sidewalk. From his position by the truck Flip can tell there’s hardly any customers inside. Spots Simone cleaning a table by the front window. She’s laughing as she leans against a booth, towel thrown over her shoulder. It’s the back of a messy voluminous ponytail that has Flip crossing the street and pushing open the door, folder loosely in hand. 

With one arched brow raised Simone straightens her stance while she eyes the Lincoln Police Department folder. Flip tries to give her a friendly smile, waits a moment as she seems to decide how to greet him before she’s walking towards him. 

“Evening officer,” she greeted him, gestures to the empty row of bar chairs along the counter, “is a seat at the counter okay?”

She’s already placing a menu onto the surface before he can reply. A porcelain coffee cup is placed near the menu. The message of him sitting where everyone can see him is perfectly clear. 

Flip continues his non-threatening disposition laying his folder face down spotting another customer in the back; the same man from the county fair. Either he was ignoring Flip’s presence or he had yet to notice him as he thumbed through a small book. 

“Thank you,” Flip responded as she poured his coffee. He’s mindful not to open his file until she walks away towards the back of the diner passing Carmen to stand near the back table. She unties her apron placing it on the table, glances back at him one more time before sitting down. Flip can only assume she doesn't mind his presence to a certain degree. 

Carmen had paused at the booth she was cleaning a few tables down in favor of watching their rather brief exchange. That same coiled curl sticking out by her ear. The diner light illustrated her dark eyes that drift between looking into Flip’s own brown pair and the folder on the counter. She glanced over her shoulder at Simone whose back was facing them before smiling at him. Picking up the dirty plates on the table, she walked towards the kitchen door that was conveniently located near Flip’s seat.

“Hello Flip,” she whispered as she passed him, her lips parted around the last syllable. She doesn’t give him a chance to reply, simply continues on her way with an arm full of dishes.

The door swung softly on its hinges behind her, Flip catches a glimpse of the counter next to the sink where she stacks the dirty dishes. Aside from the cook that glances at him every few minutes Flip counts just one other man in the kitchen who Carmen smiles at. 

Flip doesn’t know why he brought the folder as he sips his coffee. He’s already scribbled over every page and highlighted keywords that seemed to constantly be repeated from last night’s stakeout. Just aimlessly turning pages he had practically memorized at this point. The chief had decided to keep Flip on the bank case now alternating between Hunt and himself to take single shifts during the late nights. 

Flip figures he’s going to get himself shot from how oblivious he gets to his own surroundings when he finally notices Carmen standing on the other side of the counter after a beat. Can feel the tips of his ears warming from the way he just flinched at her sudden presence, despite trying to listen for the squeak the plastic at the bottom of the door made when opening. She tilts her head to read the file that’s openly on display. Her eyes slowly leave the typed documents to catch his and Flip reaches to pick up his coffee; glances around the diner as he sips. 

If he focuses hard enough it could just be the two of them, but the cook keeps looking up through the small window and Flip can faintly hear Simone’s conversation coming from the back booth. A small plate with one slice of toast, a sunny-side-up egg & a strip of bacon is placed next to the open folder. Flip knows he has a tendency of zoning out from time to time, but he also knows he _did not_ order anything.

“I figured,” Carmen started, and Flip doesn’t understand how her voice is soft in volume yet low in pitch. “You might be a little hungry.”

Flip hears the small tremor in his own voice when he thanks her. Shuffles his paperwork back in the folder with the Lincoln Police Department branded in the center. She moves to refill his coffee and Flip’s trying to figure out what to say. He’s never been this lost for words before. Has never found talking to women incredibly difficult given that the women who talk to him seem to prefer his lack of conversation until suddenly they don’t. 

The bell chimes overhead and Flip spots the older waitresses from before walking in. Hears the moment Carmen goes back through the swinging door leaving him out in the open when they spot him at the counter. Flip doesn’t know if he should be offended at the way they keep such a wide range of space as they walk passed him to get to the kitchen. One of them holds the door as Carmen comes back with a rack full of freshly washed glasses and a rag hanging from her shoulder. 

“If you could clean the back, I’ll dry these glasses,” she smiled sweetly at them. There’s a brief moment between the door closing behind her where Flip catches the women exchanging glances looking at Carmen’s retreating form as she places the rack on the counter and at him only a few feet away. 

Carmen let the silence linger between them for a few minutes as Flip pretended to reread his file between bites of toast. Looks over at her from time to time when he turns to view another page to keep up his act.

“I can have them come back if you prefer listening to local gossip.” Carmen said as she dried the glasses one by one.

On the list of things Flip would like to avoid for the rest of his life, small-town gossip narrowly took the spot right under being shot at. At least Flip knew who was shooting at him. In small towns, everyone was fair game to star in the latest scandal and the precinct wasn’t any better.

“I prefer you,” Flip mumbled absentmindedly as he turned around page then coughed to avoid choking on his bacon when he realized what he had just said. 

He can see the look she’s giving him. Her lips part just slightly as her hand pauses drying the glass she’s holding. She looks away for a second before giving him a soft smile, the one where her eyes crinkle just so in the corners.

“A wise choice,” she answered, reaching for another glass. “If you lend them an ear you’ll never get it back.”

Flip tries to hold in his laughter when one of the women walk passed him on her way to the kitchen, the door barely swings once before she’s coming back with a broom. 

Carmen keeps her head down, for the most part, rag in one hand rubbing the glass with more focus than necessary. She glances up briefly a few minutes later when Simone leans onto the counter. Flip goes back to eating what’s left of his meal.

“I’m clocking out,” she declared, then moved closer into Carmen’s space, “did you need a ride home?”

Flip can practically feel her eyes on him when Carmen takes a second to respond. Hears a second pair of footsteps that approach and stop near them. This close Flip can read the title on the black cover in his hand, _The Fire Next Time,_ by James Baldwin.

“I was going to call Michael to pick me up,” she replied, “he has family from down south visiting so I’m trying to get myself a plate.”

Simone laughed and Flip found himself staring out the corner of his eye. She’s pretty with a deep complexion and high cheekbones. She hands the man her apron, touches his cheek softly after he grasps the cotton material.

She walks between the counters throwing her arms around Carmen’s shoulders, whispering something into her curly mane. In return arms circles around her waist, rings catching the fluorescent lights overhead. They stay connected, squeezing one another before slowly letting go. A conversation held through their eyes. They both bid Carmen a goodnight and to get home safe.

“Have a goodnight, officer,” Simone said in passing. She grabbed the man’s free hand as they moved towards the door. She announces her leave to the others waves goodnight to the cook then walks through the door that is being held open for her.

It takes Flip a moment after the chime dies down to realize there’s no one else in the diner, customer wise. It’s mainly silent except for the soft sound of hushed voices near the back where Flip can see the two women sitting at a table, broom leaning against the wall unused.

Carmen finishes cleaning the glasses, moving to place the rack back under the counter onto a shelf. She uses the small rag to wipe off the droplets left behind. Looks over to him, more specifically the pages in front of him.

“Seems you’ll be there for a while,” she commented. “I can start a pot for you before I leave.”

She turned towards the coffee machine; the hem of her dress flows up temporarily and placed a coffee pot on the warmer.

“That’s not necessary,” Flip stated, “I’ll just finish at home.”

He slams the folder shut to make a point. She glances over her shoulder, fingers still wrapped around the pot's handle.

“You can work from home?” Carmen asked still not quite facing him. Her brows raised just a hair.

“Yes, ma’am,” Flip grinned as he crossed his arms to lean onto the counter. It’s one perk he doesn’t mind bragging about, usually to Benny though. Flip would spend his nights looking through notes hunched over his desk in his room, something he had outgrown after he turned sixteen; knees hitting the underside of the desk. The kitchen table wasn’t an option with his mother’s wondering eyes, especially if a case involved someone’s son.

Flip watches the way she toys with her rings, spinning one around her finger. An almost puzzled expression takes over her face.

“So,” she bites at her lips in thought. “You come to the diner because?” 

There’s an implication that sits in the air, tacked onto the end of her question. Flip doesn’t let the thought linger for too long, loses whatever confidence he had been building up as well. 

“You guys make great coffee.” The uptick in his voice is obvious and while it’s better than what he drinks at the station it’s still a weak rebuttal. 

Carmen decided not to reply as her lip pulls up in the corner; instead, she took his plate and coffee cup to the kitchen. Flip cursed to himself when the door swings close behind her. Runs his hand through his hair catching on a knot, he winced as he tugged his fingers free.

He moves to stand when she emerges, her hair brushing against her shoulders, the tie she normally uses wrapped around her wrist. That single strand currently tucked behind her ear. Small gold hoops fully on display. She fiddles with the apron that highlights her waist.

“Have a goodnight Flip,” Carmen gave him a small smile as she went to clock out. Flip watched as she reached for the telephone next to the time clock. Saw the way she stood with her hand on the receiver. She looks over to him briefly her hair follows the same movement. 

He pulls out a few bills from his wallet; isn’t sure how much his meal was; adds an extra dollar just to be sure.

Carmen’s still standing in front of the wall phone; hasn’t unhooked it to dial any numbers. Her shoulders slump and her arms hang at her side. She turns to Flip, her brows taking a straighter appearance, almost frowning as she walks back to stand in front of him on the other side of the counter.

“Is there any chance,” she paused, avoiding eye contact, her hands slipping into her apron pocket concealing the way she twists at her rings.

Flip’s _not_ holding his breath and definitely _not_ thinking ahead of this situation. He grabs the folder in front of him to give his hands something to fiddle with. Doesn’t want to look hopeful or eager. 

“Could you possibly give me a lift home?” She meets his eyes, dark chocolate irises connecting. 

Flip forgets about looking desperate. Forgets that he should at least pretend he was going to think it over. Forgets that he could make her feel the same uneasiness he experienced when he originally offered, putting himself so far out on a tightrope without a safety net.

_Don’t look a gifted horse in the mouth._

“Yes,” he breathed out. Flip tries not to think about the almost airy weightlessness that takes over his chest. Feels the muscles in his cheeks twitch as he tries not to smile too wide.

Her eyes glance down at his chest for a moment and Flip’s not sure if it’s the lights but her cheeks take on a warm appearance.

“I’ll tell the ladies that I’m leaving then,” she replied. Flip hopes she doesn’t know her hips swing just so as she walks. That the way she reaches behind her back to untie her apron brings different emotions to the surface. The strings loosen and fall around her curves. Flip looks away and goes to stand near the door, pulls it open slightly to give himself some air.

She’s back sooner than he’d like; can still feel how hot the sides of his face are. He pushes the door letting the cool night air wash over his back giving Carmen a bashful smile, mindful not to trip over his own feet. She dips her head slightly as she walks under his outstretched arm. He feels the tickling sensation of her curls brush his forearm.

The short walk to his truck is nice. The street lights illuminating them in an orange glow. She’s still fidgeting with her apron though Flip doesn’t mind, aware of the way he is gripping the folder in his hand.

He digs for his keys, almost drops them from how his hand is shaking. Thankful he manages to push the key in the slot on the first try. He opens the doors, stepping aside to let her climb in. Averts his eyes when her dress inches up exposing the back of her thighs. 

Flip doesn’t know why he’s disappointed to find her seated near the passenger door rather than the middle seat. Apron covering her thighs as she messes with the seatbelt. He places the folder down on the middle section where his flannel is still balled up. 

“Sorry,” Flip mumbled leaning over, his right hand creasing the folder and papers inside as his left grabs the clip to help her, “can't buy new belt ends ‘til next week.”

The click rang out in the space between them. This close Flip could smell the faintest hint of _cocoa_. Could hear the short inhale of air that entered her parted lips, and he’s too close. He’s hyper-aware that his hand was still covering hers over the clip. The cold metal of her rings icy under his fingers. 

Flip could feel the way his body leaned into hers just a hair before rocking back. He turned to reach for the door handle, took a deep breath before closing himself in. He doesn’t need to look down to buckle his own seat belt but it helps calm his nerves.

He tries to think of a time he was ever this nervous with a woman. Maybe when he was in middle school and kissed that girl in his science class under the away team bleachers. He had missed her mouth the first time because he closed his eyes too soon.

“Thank you,” he heard just as he starts the truck. Flip nods his head makes an attempt at giving her a reassuring smile. He messes with the rearview mirror though it’s already in the perfect position for his height. 

The radio catches some static before clearing to a Willie Nelson song. He observes the way Carmen’s brow dips gazing at the radio before he reaches forward turning the knob, the arrow moving to the right, Charley Pride drifting through the speakers; farther right, Patsy Cline; back to the left, Glen Campbell; the middle, Johnny Cash–

A smaller hand rests atop Flip’s fingers stopping the arrow. It’s position slightly to the left again. The contrast of their skin tones highlight by the street light shining through the windshield. Flip's picked up a little color from the summer sun, but it pales in comparison to her golden hue. 

The second half of Elvis Presley’s _Stuck On You_ flows through the speakers. Flip is not a teenager, so he should not be embarrassed by the suggestiveness of Elvis Presley or his lyrics, but there is nothing parental about Elvis or this current vocal run. He stares at the radio for a moment watches Carmen remove her smaller hand from his. Exhales through his nose, sinks back against the leather and shifts the truck in gear. 

The Chevy rolls forward making a slow u-turn before coming to a stop. Flip laughs to himself, running a hand through his hair as Elvis’ deep voice drifts in the night air. 

“Which way do you live?” He asked shifting his attention to her, his head pillowed against the soft give of the leather headrest. He tries to keep his eyes focused solely on her face, doesn't want to dive too deep into the image of her sitting in his truck. At least he had the foresight to turn the volume down when he first parked. 

“About three miles down that road,” she instructed over the backing vocals, pointing to the left side which is the same street that runs in front of the diner. 

The wheels take them left then they're traveling down the empty street. The constant rumble of the truck blends into the background. Elvis fades away softly as an opening of bass notes quickly followed by fingers snapping fills the cab. Carmen starts humming along to the song, a soft smile gracing her lips as she drums her fingers along to the beat on her thigh. 

Flip expects to be on the receiving end of a shocked expression when he asks whose singing, instead Carmen lets out a breathy laugh. She tucks what Flip can only call his favorite curl behind her ear. 

“The Temptations,” she leaned toward, fingers paused over the dial that controls the volume, looking to Flip. He nods, letting the trumpets and strings blanket over them. 

There’s a soft blush covering his cheeks when he finally makes out the lyrics, thankful the streetlights only illuminated the passenger side of the truck. Carmen seamlessly relaxing further back on her side of the truck. Flip wished the volume wasn’t so high; he could faintly hear her singing along to the chorus.

Despite the more industrial look of the Eastside once he hits the more residential area it almost mirrors his own. There are more apartment buildings than the Westside, and everything seems closer together. There is much less greenery surrounding them and more pavement. Flip has yet to pass a single truck along the way.

As the song started to come to an end Carmen reached to turn the volume to zero. The sounds the night provided now at the forefront. 

“Why aren’t you driving your,” she paused at the word; choosing to look over at him instead. 

“I got promoted earlier this week,” Flip grinned, pride swelling in his chest when he thinks about all those late nights finally paying off. “Detectives get to drive their own cars.”

She slides her fingers across the leather seat beneath her, watches the stars twinkle through the windshield. 

“I started working on this baby in spring,” Flip tapped on the dashboard gently. “Practically rebuilt it.”

Maybe Flip is exaggerating a bit, but he’s proud of the work he put into his truck; didn’t realize until he lifted the hood for the first time he would love the grease smeared on his cheek or the oil stains on his jeans. The physical appearances of the labor he did. 

Carmen looks around the cabin as if she’s trying to picture what it originally looked like; faded and falling apart. 

“Detective Flip?” She mumbled to herself. 

“Detective Zimmerman actually,” Flip replied. All the houses they pass are dark, this late in the night no one would be up unless they worked a night shift. 

She doesn’t repeat after him, doubts he’d be able to forget the way she pronounces his name. Still thinks of the way her lips parted when she called him _’Flip’_ for the first time. 

“So what does a _detective_ do?” Carmen asked him, readjusting her grip on the white cloth in her lap. He likes the way the word detective sounds; he’s not sure when he began to dislike the word officer. 

Flip thinks of Hunt’s earlier words about keeping his life private to himself, wonders if it works both ways. The idea of introducing her into that kind of environment doesn’t sit well within himself. Knows he should be grateful for the miles he’s currently driving.

Carmen didn’t seem too bothered by Flip’s lack of response or cooperation to enlighten her about his work. He briefly thinks about her at the diner, how her patience is a godsend with indecisive customers. Just waiting for them to make up their minds. 

“Do you like it?” She tried again, then points with her finger at the upcoming street sign, “Turn right up here, please.” 

“It’s never boring,” Flip turned down the street, tries to word his answer as vaguely as possible, “my parents are proud.”

She nods looking out the window at the houses they pass, “And your siblings?”

“Is there something you want to tell me,” Flip glanced over at her, “ _Detective_ Carmen?”

She laughed at his playful tease, taking the apron briefly off her lap. Flip can’t help how his eyes stare at her thighs before she’s covering them again. She starts folding the cloth into a neat square. 

“Can’t a woman be curious about the man driving her home?” Carmen slowly teased him back, her eyes remain on her lap. In the passing lights Flip can tell she’s smiling. Notices how she pulled at a loose white cotton thread, yanks it hard enough to snap off. 

“It’s just me.” He stated. 

She plays with the thread for a moment. The night air blows her hair back. A tan hand reaching up to tuck more hair behind her ear that immediately springs back. The same hand pokes out of the lowered window to let the thread dance along her fingers before flying away into the air.

"Do you ever get lonely?" She's watching him as the lights pass over them, bathing them in and out of the night's dark sky.

"Not usually," Flip muttered. It's not really something he has ever thought about. 

He's had Benny by his side since they were in grade school. His larger built made him popular among the sports players throughout all of high school. Once he joined the military, he worked his way up to becoming an expert marksman, earning respect among his comrades.

“If you change your mind." She started, smiling at him, "Would you want Ricky?” 

Flip laughed as she points towards a small single-story home causing him to slow the truck to a stop. There’s a small light next to the front door that illuminates the porch. From the street, he can guess that the house might be a soft blue color. There is a single porch swing and a few potted plants that line the rail.

He turned the truck off; leans over to unlock her door. Knows Carmen could pull the lock up herself, but Flip’s beginning to understand he’s a little weak when it comes to being near her. Tries to hold on to the cocoa smell that seems to cling to her skin. He moves back to sit comfortably on the driver's side. 

“Funny,” Flip crosses his arms over the steering wheel, rests his head on top before making eye contact, “he said the same thing about you.”

Carmen didn’t reply at first, her hands crossed and folded atop her apron. There’s a single light on in her home, most likely coming from the living room. Flip notices a light flickering on from the house next door. 

“And?”

Flip feels the instant the air in the cabin changes. Doesn’t know if it’s his breathing or hers that picks up. His heart practically thumping in a measured fashion in his ears, blood pumping as he keeps his eyes on her. 

“I liked his offer better.”

It’s quick, the leather gives the faintest crack under moving weight.

The soft press of lips against his cheek; her curls brushing against his nose and Flip realizes the smell that has been living in his daydreams isn’t perfume but something in her _hair_. 

His eyes are open the entire time yet the cool air from the truck door opening takes him by surprise. It’s a startling temperature contrast from the hot spot on his cheek and single patch of skin her pinkie had covered on his hand from leaning over. 

The soft slam of the truck door has Carmen watching him from outside. She hugs her apron to her chest. Flip’s quicker this time to recover, calls out before she has the chance to leave him blinking at his own reflection.

“Are you free next Thursday?” He asked, even though he knows he should not be making plans that far in advance. He doesn’t let himself think exactly why he should not be making plans with _her_ especially.

She should say no because Flip doesn’t know what he’ll do with himself if she says yes. Hasn’t thought that far. Doesn’t even have the slightest clue what they would be doing. Just knows they won't be spending their time in a back booth at the diner. 

It's the first time tonight that she's given him that look. Where her brows lower and her eyes seem to be watching an approaching storm. She bites at the inside of her cheek lost in thought for a few seconds.

“Yes,” it’s slow and uncertain. 

Flip’s not going to act like he’s practiced this line multiple times in the mirror, because he _has not._

“I can swing by around noon,” he started, already he can feel the back of his neck getting hot.

Carmen looked over her shoulder to her home, the single light still on. Flip could clearly see her mind racing.

“At the diner?” He tried.

She turned back to him with a smile on her face as she nodded her head in agreement. 

“Goodnight,” she said softly, stepping away from the truck door, “Detective Zimmerman.”

Flip knows he'll be a little embarrassed when he gets home and thinks about how wide he was smiling when he said goodnight. How he elongated her name to give himself just a few more seconds.

Her hair bounces as she jogs up the drive, Flip observes the way she slips off one of her work sneakers to pull out a key. Light poured out of the front door almost reaching his truck. She wiggles her fingers when she looks back at him before closing the door. 

Flip waits for the light in the soft blue house with the porch swing and plants to turn off before he starts the truck up. He leaves the radio on its current station, lets trumpets and rhythmic drumming guide him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/jennifercbelcher/) & [tumblr](https://modestefemme.tumblr.com/)


	6. Mrs.Douglas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my AP English professor, who would be horrified to discover that I have been writing this entire story without an outline.  
> Also, try not to throw all your personal belongings into your jeep and move back to Southern California in the middle of a pandemic.

_1967_

"And you know what happened next," Benny declared. Flip paused at the hole he was digging before striking the soil hard enough for the shovel to stand on its own. He yanked off his yellow leather work glove, pushing it down into his back pocket for a moment.

"What," he countered, adjusting his baseball cap. The brim shielded his eyes, for the most part, shadowing the upper half of his face. A soft breeze tickled the ends of his hair that stuck out from underneath his cap and curled near his ears.

Over the years he had discovered that Benny could sustain his own weight in a conversation. Flip could simply unwind after a demanding and exhausting night shift, beer in hand, to provide an ear and occasional sarcastic input when needed. 

"They shot him!" Benny stressed, "Who in their right mind decides to kill off _Paul Newman_." 

He used his right hand to emphasize his disbelief — the same hand that contained his opened bottle of water; droplets hitting Flip's exposed shoulder. He flinched lightly feeling the cold drops race down his back. 

"Ya know," Benny continued between sips, "Natalie said we kinda look alike."

Flip lifted a single dark eyebrow as he smirked leaning heavily onto his shovel. He felt the rubber handle dig into the underside of his forearm as the dirt settled an inch or two under his large frame. 

"You and the captain?" He taunted, squinting his eyes over to the shorter man, "I saw that trailer, must be those dreamy eyes."

Benny chuckled as he twisted the plastic cap back onto the half-empty bottle before tossing it over to where they had discarded their shirts onto the lawn earlier that morning. Flip raised both eyebrows in a taunting manner.

"What we've got here is..." they both started in unison, a horrible attempt at a Florida accent, tone high-pitched and nasally, "failure to communicate." 

They locked eyes for a second when Flip released a deep laugh, brown eyes crinkling in the corners. While Benny's eyes were still closed, he quickly reached into his back pocket locating his glove and threw it with trained accuracy; hitting the other square in the face. The smack of the glove against his cheek brought forth more laughter between the two.

Despite the end of summer Flip could still feel the damp sweat collecting on his lower back. Benny and himself had been digging fence post holes for over two hours; filling in the previous columns with fresh dirt. The new treated pine fence posts were stacked in a large pile in the back of Flip’s pick up. A clove brown color that complimented the single-story home’s wrap-around porch. 

Regardless Flip was grateful for the change of atmosphere compared to the smoky haze that lingered in the back half of the Lincoln Police Department bullpen. Within the few days following his promotion, Flip had spoken with his sergeant in private in hopes of being placed in the department's small Narcotics Division. Shadowing and training under Detective Hunt had exposed him to a darkened side of Lincoln and its surrounding inhabitants.

Benny had wandered into the precinct the following day with the promise of iced cold beers and homemade lunches. What he had conveniently left out until the last possible moment, was the fact that Flip needed to be up roughly two hours after the sun had risen — dressed and ready to load hundreds of treated pinewood fencing into the back of his truck from Menards. Or the fact that Benny had already assured Mrs.Douglas that Flip did not mind helping him reinstall an entirely new fence covering her three-acre yard. 

"Are you working Thursday?" Benny asked as he filled in the last old post, using the back of the shovel to pack the dirt down. 

Flip continued to lean on his own shovel, though not as carefree as earlier, feeling his smile slip into a more sober expression. 

"It’s not for another fence," the other man chuckled after being met with only silence from Flip's end. "the drive-ins showing that James Bond movie after sundown."

"You Only Live Twice," Flip provided, pulling his shovel loose. Benny nodded as he handed Flip back his glove.

They walked over to the truck, throwing their shovels in the small space that wasn’t occupied by pine wood. Flip pushed his hand back into the weathered glove, grabbed a hammer, then an armful of wood; mindful to watch out for uneven pieces. Benny followed suit, hammer dangling hazardously from his back pocket. 

"Yeah," Benny discharged his pile near Flip’s, kneeling down to grab one piece of wood at a time, hammering against the horizontal beams placed between the posts. "So, you free that day?"

He was definitely _not_ free that day. 

The chief could call him that morning and Flip knew he would not be acknowledging any kind of request to work. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. He had silently been calculating the days left until Thursday in his head since last week; though he won’t dare cross those same passing dates out on his desk calendar, too wary to leave any visible evidence that Detective Phillip Zimmerman had _personal plans_. 

Personal plans that the young detective had yet to fully consider. While a little under two weeks seemed like plenty of time to prepare for whatever it was he had suggested. Describing Thursday as a date was out of the question. A date held the sense that Flip actually had any idea of what he was doing.

After dropping Carmen off, he had practically sped to the only 24-hour liquor store on the outskirts of town. The rest of the night was spent laying in the cargo bed of his truck parked in the driveway; watching the stars and drowning himself in Coors Light. Between the second or third can he realized he didn't know a single thing about Carmen besides her wonderful cake baking abilities. In similar circumstances, Flip would simply question the company of the woman he was interested in. This was unmistakably a very different situation. He had never felt so alienated from a collective group of people until recently. 

He had already stopped himself twice from walking into the barbershop. His father had illustrated his distaste over his son's more liberal appearance since returning home four years ago — he had compromised by shaving. Carmen didn't seem to object to the somewhat progressive length of his hair. The younger woman's mane was truly a sight, thick and curly; a mixture of coils, ringlets, and loose waves. He wouldn't label her as the bohemian type per se, she did wear shoes. 

Flip stared at the pine he was holding and turned it over in his hand. He watched Benny out of the corner of his eye; who continued to hammer nails into the wood. 

"I have to go out of town," Flip started slowly, placing the plank of wood upright. He grabbed his hammer and two nails, hitting one at a time to secure the pine. "For a meeting."

Flip felt the way his palms were beginning to sweat in his gloves, hyper-aware of how withdrawn his breathing was. Benny shrugged his shoulder in a nonchalant fashion, mumbling out an 'okay' as he worked, picking up another plank. Flip could count the number of times he had not been fully honest with Benny on his left hand. It became apparent as they worked in relative silence he was going to need to start using his right hand soon. 

Flip peered over his shoulder at the sound of a door slamming closed. Mrs.Douglas had emerged from the house with a large tray in her hands. She placed it on the small side table that stood between her rocking chair and the front door, waving Flip over when she caught his eyes. He used the tip of his hammer to tap Benny’s arm as he stood.

He removed his cap to put his plain white crew neck t-shirt back on; it stuck somewhat to his skin. The rim of the old cap damp from his sweat. Benny slipped his shirt over his head as he walked towards the porch, Flip a few feet behind.

Mrs.Douglas was an elderly woman, whose husband had passed a few years ago. She lived on the more rural edge of town, near local family-owned farms. Flip grew up with her grandson Tommy. While Benny and Flip preferred to spend their Saturdays watching _The Mickey Mouse Club_ or fishing at the lakes as kids, Tommy’s father would take him hunting. There was an incident one summer before the start of high school where Flip could not even _look_ at raw meat after a lengthy and far too in-depth conversation with the other boy. Benny had found the whole ordeal hilarious. It was correct to assume that Tommy was a man who belonged to the country. 

The summer after graduation, Tommy moved to Kansas to work on a relative’s dairy farm seven hours away. He kept in touch with letters that usually informed the pair when he would be driving up to visit family, mainly his beloved grandmother. 

"I figured you boys were getting hungry from all this work," Mrs.Douglas said, gesturing towards the tray. Two perfectly toasted triangular cut sandwiches greeted them alongside what looked to be a small cup of potato salad. 

"Thank you, ma’am," Flip voiced, grabbing a plate, careful not to tilt it as he sat on the porch step. Benny’s boot knocked against his as he joined him on the step; the dry grass crunching under their work boots.

Mrs.Douglas smiled, placing her hands on her hips as she looked across the lawn at the in-progress fence. Judging by the work they had accomplished in the past two hours Flip figured they would be done in another two hours. 

"You’re very welcome, it’s the least I could do," She beamed, watching Benny readjust his grip around the rather tall chicken salad sandwich.

"This is so good," He said between bites, mostly keeping his gaze locked onto the plate in his lap. 

"I'll grab you boys some drinks," she said, opening her screen door, catching it behind her so it would not slam against the frame. A truck hauling a horse trailer drove along the partial fence continuing down the road, kicking up dust. The sound of chewing stopped next to him, from the side he could see Benny watching him for a few seconds.

"Before I forget, Elisabeth wanted me to tell you she's 'awfully sorry 'bout the fair,'" Benny spoke, imitating her airy voice, pausing for a second to examine the look that crossed Flip's face. The clear objection at the minor mention of the other woman was a warning sign that he chose to ignore.

"Look," he continued. 

"No," Flip interrupted, he looked back at the shut screen door, listening to the shuffle of footsteps as another door closed somewhere within the house.

"I'm not saying you should give Lizzie another chance," the other man raised his hands.

"Wasn't planning on it," he declared.

"So you _don't_ want to go to Kool-Aid Days with us," Benny challenged, pursing his mouth, "Or get _pastrami_ at the deli."

Flip groaned. Although neither man cared much for the overly sugary drinks the festival was honoring, the deli they had stumbled upon a few seasons back was the highlight of their road trip.

"Natalie already invited her along," he explained regrettably as he knew his wife's opinion about the brunette was the exact opposite of his close friends.

"Well, have fun with the sister wives," he grumped, popping another grape into his mouth, chewing aggressively. He was _not_ going to sacrifice his sanity for a beef brisket sandwich. 

Benny looked across the yard, drumming his fingers against his jeans in thought.   
  
"I tell you what, the diner on the Eastside makes good pastrami on rye," Benny said, putting his half-eaten sandwich down to grasp his fork for the potato salad, "next time I drop off a car I'll bring you one."

Considering the first time they wandered into the diner was during its breakfast crowd, Flip hadn't bothered to read the whole menu at that exact moment. The second attempt was too late for him to even consider ordering a sandwich, though eating homemade cake near midnight wasn't a bad trade.

"Just stop by the station," Flip muttered, taking another large bite, chicken falling out from the back of his sandwich. "No one will notice if I take a longer lunch."

It’s not until Mrs.Douglas had returned with two chilled coca-cola bottles that Flip caught the expression on Benny’s face. How his brows had risen higher and his face tilted just a hair to the side. 

Flip took his coke from the older woman, his larger hand easily wrapping around the bottle; smiling and thanking her again for the food. He deliberately avoided looking in Benny's general direction in favor of taking another large bite of his sandwich. It had only been a few minutes before Mrs.Douglas was excusing herself to return to the laundry she had been in the middle of finishing. The screen door gently closed separating her from them.

" _You_ wanna go back to the diner," Benny began, his hand wrapped loosely around the base of the glass bottle, "the man who acted like I was committing a _sin_ for wanting breakfast?"

Flip readjusted his grip around the neck of the glass bottle. The icy chill from its time in the refrigerator was a nice contrast to his climbing body temperature. He brought the bottle to his mouth and took a long sip; resting the rim against his lips for a few seconds. 

"It wasn’t like that," Flip grumbled.

He tried not to reflect too often about his first initial interaction regarding that day. How uncomfortable he was surrounded by the same group of people his father regularly berated when his mother wasn’t close by to stop him. The conversations his father would drag Flip into when he was forced to accompany him to the barbecue shack; a heavy arm displayed around his shoulders, boasting to his drinking buddies about his son not only fighting in the war but becoming a police officer, a man of law and order, — a hero. 

Flip knew it was not his finest moment; that he had admittedly over-reacted to a rather innocent scenario. No one in the diner had even attempted to disturb them. It was apparent within seconds of being seated that their hostess had associated both of them as everyday customers.

Benny blinked in bewilderment, before letting out a short laugh. The kind that pushed the corners of his mouth up for a moment. He took a quick sip of his drink then sat it down. 

"Well, that waitress hasn't spit in my eggs," Benny commented, shoving a forkful of potatoes into his mouth. 

"As far as you know," He retorted between slow sips of his coke, watching the breeze move through the short grass. 

Benny knocked his boot against Flip’s, rolling his eyes half-heartedly. He put his fork down to start on the second half of his sandwich. 

"I ran into her at the garage," Benny said as he took a bite, crumbs landing on his plate. "She’s real sweet."

Flip placed his coke down gently onto the porch step. Out of all the conversations to have with Benny on a porch; this was _not_ one he wanted to participate in. He reached up to pull his cap off, running his fingers through a few times before the thick material was hugging his head once again. 

"I think her name is Carla." Benny eventually tacked on when he was met with silence. He kept his eyes on the half-done fence as he ate. 

Flip picked at the crust of his sandwich, pulling around the edge. Depending on how interested or bored he was in a topic Benny would poke at him until he got what he wanted. He threw the edge piece onto the grass, a bird or squirrel would come along soon enough to pick it up. 

"Pretty sure remembering names is part of your job," Flip supplied, trying to keep the space between them lighthearted. 

"Hardly," Benny laughed from his lax position on the porch, "I just match the face to the car."

The paper plate on his lap swayed for a moment as Flip crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the post behind him. His body slowly relaxed as the porch provided them with light shade.

"Her boyfriend drove this sick 1960 Cadillac Fleetwood," Benny mentioned, "he bought it off this old man a few towns over."

Flip felt himself blink as he took in what Benny had just announced. He picked up his bottle, grip tighter than necessary as he took slow measured sips. The cold sensation helped calm the heat he felt spreading under his skin. His movement halted remembering the only Cadillac he had seen in recent months.

He also remembered specifically how Carmen had identified her relationship with said Cadillac driver. 

Flip placed his plate on the porch; the other half of his sandwich untouched as he stood, brushing his hands across his jeans; the light catching the dust that danced in the air as it fluttered towards the ground. 

"You gonna finish that?" Benny asked, pointing to Flip’s plate. With a short shake of his head, Benny reached over grabbing the toasted sandwich with one hand, taking a generous bite. Using his other hand, he pushed himself off the porch.

They crossed the yard walking back to the half-finished fence. Flip waited for a few beats, just their footsteps taking up the silence outside of the rustling of the trees and wind chimes. He scratched at the back of his neck, fingers finding skin underneath his thick locks. He opened his mouth to comment.

"Actually," Benny said, kneeling to his previous spot by the fence, "I think she said Caramel." 

Flip chose to remain silent nodding instead, hammering into the fence, determined to finish this project within the next two hours. While he had no concrete plans for the rest of the day he had a feeling where this was heading and would rather avoid this integration. The rhythmic strike of their hammers filled the open air between them. 

"I guess it doesn't matter," Benny said in a breezy like tone as he hobbled over on his knees to the next post, dragging a few pinewood pieces with him. 

"It doesn't," Flip mumbled, getting up to start on a new section a couple of yards down from him. He felt the weight of eyes on him as he silently worked. 

By the time they reached the last two sections around the back on the house, Flip regretted giving up the other half of his sandwich. His stomach had made itself known for the last 30 minutes, and the dry grass and dirt were starting to hurt his knees. Benny had thankfully changed the subject back to practically telling Flip the entire plot of 'Cool Hand Luke,' then still asked if he would want to catch a midnight showing sometime this week. Flip nailed his final piece while Benny lagged a few boards behind him; as the other man preferred to talk with his hands. 

"I'll let Mrs.Douglas know we're done," Flip said as he stretched, crossing his arms over his head. He felt the way his muscles pulled from his lower back to his neck. The stroll back to the small home helped loosen the tight feeling in his legs along with giving his mind an opportunity to roam without the risk of injuring himself with a hammer.

People were allowed to have separate lives away from work. Flip knew Benny had a multitude of friends outside of their small circle that he had never met; probably would never meet. Knew that even someone like Hunt presumably had colleagues he knocked back a few drinks and smokes with. The overwhelming sense of curiosity had found a home in the very front of Flip's mind.

He wasn't particularly close with his own neighbors; all the kids on his street were a minimum eight years older than him and had left for college, work, or were drafted by the time he entered middle school. From the few minutes he had witnessed, Michael and Carmen seemed to get along well. Flip figured that was what happened when people were given the chance to grow up with neighbors their own age. 

Mrs.Douglas was seated in her rocking chair with a glass of iced tea and a book when Flip rounded the edge of the modest house. She smiled, eyes crinkling in the corners, two brown paper bags present on the small side table. She marked the spot in her book with what looked to be a photograph and placed it on the table alongside the bags.

"I know Benjamin said not to worry about money, but," Mrs. Douglas slowly pushed herself out of the chair which rocked gently against her legs, "I thought some baked goods would help."

Even with the tops folded over, Flip could smell the cinnamon and just a hint of banana seeping through the brown paper bags. The sound his stomach produced could rival a blue whale. Mrs.Douglas laughed as she handed him a bag; without hesitation Flip opened the sack revealing a few squares of cinnamon coffee cake, some slices of banana bread, and a handful of snickerdoodle cookies. 

If his mother could see him now, Flip knew she would be appalled at the speed of which he shoved a single slice of banana bread into his awaiting mouth. Back when his mother still worked Flip spent enough summer nights at the Douglas household to lose all sense of shame when it came to the manner of which he ate. Around the third or fourth bite, Benny had climbed onto the porch receiving his own bag of baked goods; choosing to nibble on a single cookie, cinnamon crystals covered his lips.

"I'm glad you boys like them," she said once both men had stopped chewing.

"Never met a cookie I didn't like," Benny clarified, reaching back into the bag, pulling out two more cookies.

Flip paused, his fingers barely brushing against the crumbled top of a cinnamon coffee cake square. He watched Benny from his peripheral vision.

"Did you want me to share with Natalie or," Flip teased, raising a single dark brow. Benny dropped one cookie back into the bag and used his teeth to hold onto the second cookie as he folded the flap back over.

"Gotta share with the miss," he winked at Mrs.Douglas shaking the baked treat in the air.

"Of course," she agreed with him before turning towards Flip, "are you married now, Phillip?"

Benny held in a poorly concealed laugh, bumping his hip as he thanked Mrs.Douglas with a quick hug and processed to stroll over to the parked chevy. All the while ignoring the sharp glare the raven-haired man was shooting his way. Flip felt his face warming as he rocked on the heels of his boots for a moment, before turning back to the older woman.

"Well, I've just been really busy with work," he started slowly, almost knocking his hat off his head as he proceeded to rub his forehead in an exhausted fashion. Flip didn't need any reminders of his marital status or lack thereof. Well, aware of homemade meals fellow officers would munch on throughout the day. "Hardly have time to feed myself." 

He looked down at his boots, dry and dusty; his jeans worn at the edges and near his knees; the bag of freshly baked treats in his hand. Flip hesitated for a brief second, holding his gaze at the brown paper bag in his hand; recognizing the opportunity that had been laid right in front of him. Promptly looking over his shoulder to see Benny munching on another treat as he sat on the passenger side of his truck he turned back meeting kind eyes.

Flip smiled down at Mrs.Douglas, white teeth on full display, cheeks pushed up.

"It would help if I knew how to make something other than a ham sandwich," he mumbled, looking across the lawn then back into her eyes. 

Mrs.Douglas nodded her head, a gentle smile gracing her lips.

"Why don't you stop by this week?" she said.

"I wouldn't want to trouble you," Flip faintly countered.

"Nonsense, I'd be happy to have you here," she wrapped her arms gently around Flip's shoulder as he leaned down. She smelled like the cinnamon treats she had baked.

Flip's long legs carried him swiftly to the driver's side of his truck. Gently tossing the paper bag into the already half-rolled-down window, landing against Benny's thigh. The other man grabbed the bag placing it on his lap alongside his own identical bag.

"I'll trade you some chocolate bread for a few more banana slices," Benny paused hand hovering over the folded top, Flip nodded as he climbed into the cab. He tossed his cap onto the dashboard as he started the truck, engine vibrating under them before backing down the dirt driveway. 

The journey back into town had been filled with Benny singing off-tune along with Ringo Starr, reaching over to smack Flip on the shoulder, goating him to join in. The dial had been left on the _Top 40_ , contemporary hit radio station, Benny's selection from the morning.

The pair rolled their respective windows down fully as they crossed the bridge that separated the populated Lincoln from its country counterpart. The Beatles’ _With A Little Help From My Friends_ , turned up as high as they could withstand. Flip leaned forward to decrease the volume as shops started to appear along the street. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for writing such lovely comments!  
> Did I have a crush on young Paul Newman growing up, yes. Have I outgrown said crush, nope.  
> No spoilers but you can follow my [tumblr](https://modestefemme.tumblr.com/). I try to keep people in the loop of when the next chapters will be posted.


	7. Underwater Surprise (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am terribly sorry for this hiatus that came out of nowhere. Remember to eat, drink plenty of water, and try to get at least 7 hrs of sleep every night.

_1967_

The widened stretch of his mouth only seemed to intensify his yawn. Flip had caught his reflection in the rearview mirror of the truck as he had slowly pulled up next to a familiar yellow newsstand just diagonal from the diner. The ignition had cut off abruptly from the aggressive handling of his keys; the soft hum of the engine cooling down reflected the exact opposite of the white-knuckled grip he had on the steering wheel. 

A slow inhale followed a deeper extensive exhale. The young detective reached over towards the glove compartment box, a quick intake of breath caused by the sharp bite of the seatbelt that dug into his chest. He swiftly unbuckled the belt, the release allowing a long portion of air to fill his lungs, as he popped open the compartment wrapping his fingers around his grandfather's watch. During its transfer from the battered cruiser, one of the straps had unfortunately ripped completely off leaving Flip with just the buckled half to fiddle with. He rubbed his thumb over the scratched face regarding the minute hand as it slowly ticked closer to the top.

_11:44_

Flip had already acknowledged to himself that he would probably arrive a few minutes early — had woken up an hour before his alarm was set to sound, body vibrating with nerves. He would never admit to anyone, even on his deathbed, the number of times he had changed shirts, ruining his carefully styled hair each time; eventually deciding on a dark denim button-down. While the dark material complimented his skin tone, Flip could feel the denim starting to catch on his back, between his nerves and the leather seat he was bound to start sweating. 

He glanced at his side mirror, could barely make out a few figures moving around inside the dinner. A copycat yellow uniform walked by the large front window, tray in hand. The lunch crowd was in full swing, the door was pulled open as a family of four left; the two children bounced between their parents, kid-friendly coloring menus clutched in their small hands. The position of the truck allowed him to catch a possible glimpse of the mixed curls that frequented his thoughts in the dark of night. He looked down at the watch in his lap, only two minutes had ticked by. Flip ran a large hand through his hair, cursing when he remembered the minutes he had spent combing it to a more presentable appearance. Dark raven locks framing his face, the ends tickled at the stubble on his chin. 

While the agreement of meeting up at the diner was simple enough, Flip was suddenly unaware if he was permitted to wait _inside_ the diner. Was it possible for him to ask for a tall glass of water as he waited for her, or was that too much of a hassle? A heavy sigh escaped plush lips as his grip on the steering wheel fell to the handle of the door. He tossed the small watch back into the glove compartment, it shut with a click. Without much thought, the door was pushed open and Flip was standing at the side of the truck. He looked at the diner, roughly 50 yards away from his current position; it would not take even a full minute to reach the front door. To clasp his hand around the cold door latch and stroll into the rich lively atmosphere.

Flip released another short sigh and took a few steps, only to place his hand on the side of the truck bed, leaning against the metal as he folded his arms to rest his head in the space they created. The denim stretched across his muscular back from his hunched-over frame. The afternoon breeze pushed through his hair brushing the back of his neck. He mumbled to himself for a few seconds, trying to grasp the self-assured and confident persona he normally displayed at the station. Flip was almost certain what he was feeling exceeded the first time he was called into the chief’s office after he had blown his first big assignment; stomach buzzing, hands cold.

"Are you okay?" 

It was a little faint though it might as well have been voiced right next to his ear from its sudden appearance.

During moments such as these, Flip was appreciative of his military training. The ability to be caught off guard but still remain silent was crucial. His heart raced, leaping into his throat for a brief time period as he turned his head slightly towards the front of the truck, cheek sliding against his forearm, hair covering up most of his expression. He could feel the bruise that was no doubt forming from the vice-like grip he had on his own wrist to stop himself from flinching. A large collection of air leaving his lungs.

After a single blink, the embarrassment of what had just happened began to set in. If his hair was still in the short shave the military had originally issued Flip was certain she would have noticed that even the tips of his ears turned rosy. There was not much time for him to fully emerge into any discomfort as she rounded the front of the truck, stopping near the headlights.

Carmen was wearing a sundress that hit just below her knees, an amber color, golden-like; her complexion highlighted the deep honeycomb hue. A brown leather strap was worn diagonally across her body as a small satchel hung on the opposite hip. The smile that had graced her face dipped; replaced with that uncertain look when Flip recognized he had yet to say anything since she surprised him with her unexpected arrival.

"I'm fine," Flip said, attempting to portray a more confident demeanor. Positioned his body to lean against the truck, the cold metal helping to regulate his warming skin.

Carmen smiled, a hint of teeth peeking out between her lips. Flip was well aware that he was gawking; knew her lips were never that glossy before. Doesn't know what the color would be called as it was only a few shades darker than her skin. She had to tip her head back significantly more than usual; her vision block by the wide-brimmed braided paper straw sunhat adorning her head.

Flip had assumed he was appropriately dressed for the evening, but watching the way Carmen's right-hand moved to cradle her left elbow, rubbing at the skin there and how the sun bounced off her rings, made him less sure.

"You look," he started. There was an infinite combination of complaints he could give her to the point he was not entirely sure which one to even begin with; perhaps beautiful or dazzling, maybe stunning. Could one woman possibly look alluring in a _sundress_.

"Nervous?" She supplied and Flip can recognize that worried tic of hers; where the grasp of her elbow isn't to shield her body but to stop her from tucking that spiral curl behind her ear. He wondered if that small clump of hair would ever become less curly over time, soft fingers eventually smoothing it straight; he hopes not, the ringlets that frame her face are just as captivating as her eyes.

"Pretty," he concluded. 

"Oh," Carmen released a laugh, more breathy than a real deep chuckle, eyes crinkling in their usual fashion, "thank you." 

Her hand detached its grip on her elbow, traveling the familiar path to her hair, tucking a few curls behind her ear. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop the smile that threatened to spread. She moved to take a single delicate step towards him, the brim of the sunhat blocking her eyes. Flip felt the way his spine seemed to straighten on its own as she neared him, pushed away from the truck to stand a bit taller, broader. 

"You look _different_ ," she commented after a beat, head tipped back just somewhat, dark eyes examining Flip's attire; taking in his neater appearance; mainly his ironed denim shirt and surprisingly combed hair. It's not clear at first if different is good compared to his usual after hour image.

"Did you run out of plaid shirts?" she questioned him, brow straight with a puzzled expression finding its place on her face. Her curious facade shaken by the small upturn of her lips. 

Flip's unsure if his brows can climb any higher than they already have, creeping closer to his hairline with each passing second as Carmen bit at her lips, triumphantly holding in her laughter. A single slow blink before shoulders shake and Flip's laughing at his lack of signature plaid.

"Did I run," Flip began his tone close to humorous disbelief. He thought the denim was a nice choice; something, off-beaten to the sea of checkered cloth in his small closet. "There's an extra in the cab."

Carmen hummed to herself in thought.

"Maybe another time," she entertained the idea; doesn't give Flip any time to think of a witty comeback or bathe in the hopeful implications of _another time_ as she glanced to the side of his figure to the diner, inching closer to the chevy, "we should probably go."

Flip had half a mind to look over his shoulder at the large diner window, to give whoever was watching them the same stare he gave men that sat in the Lincoln Police Department's holding cells after one too many bar fights. He also had enough sense to know that even the smallest uneasy tension could possibly cause Carmen to change her mind and he'd be damn if this date ended before he even opened the door.

It only takes a single step for Flip to reach the truck's door, swinging it open quickly. 

"After you," he grinned, watching the way her eyes dart to the pavement for a brief second.

The movement of how she ducks her head slightly to walk under his outstretched arm nearly takes him back to just two weeks ago, though her sunhat scratches at his covered forearm as opposed to soft curls.

The fabric of her dress started to pull up as she half climbed half slid herself along the leather seat. Flip can acknowledge that he is nowhere near a saint yet he tried to avoid concentrating on how the amber material seems to stretch across her lower half. He's still inspecting the steering wheel when she looked over towards him; his tight grip remained on the door frame. 

He ran a hand through his hair before joining her, the door shutting them in together. His hands don't feel nearly as dry as they were before he parked as he shoved the key into the ignition, but he's more prepared for the radio to come alive; seizes the 8-track on the dash that he bought last week at the record store. Recalls how he spent close to an hour listening to multiple artists from almost every genre; then spotting the strawberry sundae cover art on his way to the door. 

The opening of strong guitar riffs cut off the banjo strings mid-song before Chuck Berry's low-range tenor voice leaks out from the speakers. There's a small grin that graces Carmen's lips as she peered out the window, rolling it down just a few inches to let in the autumn breeze. Flip feels his own matching grin take over his face as he leans forward to help her with the seatbelt. It clicks into place on the first try, new buckled end shining, only reflecting two different sets of fingerprints.

"I haven't heard this song in years," she laughed, teeth bright white like always as she reached for the volume button, pausing to look at Flip as if he would refuse.

He leaned back in his seat, gestures for her to turn it up as the truck roars under them. The tires kick up gravel as they head straight, before making a left a few streets down. While Flip wasn't a hundred percent familiar with the Eastside of town, he was skilled in reading a compass and knowing which way was north. 

"Are you a big fan?” Flip asked, turning down another side street, slowly zigzagging his way to the Northside of town. 

It was more subdued the further they drove, the industrial look of the Eastside declining. The residential area they were currently passing through was similar to Carmen's with single-story homes built closely together; a strip of lawn separating them, simple porches, and single-car garages.

"My dad is," Carmen said, "they always have an album playing over at the site."

Flip looked over periodically, watching the way she pressed herself closer to the door, letting the wind that the truck was creating blow against her. The soft smell of her perfume began to permeate the small space between them. The leather makes a quiet sound as she turns toward him, sunhat knocked from her head and onto the truck floor when the wide brim hit the side of the headrest.

"Are you a fan?" she countered. 

Flip drummed his fingers against the steering wheel rationalizing to himself that it was best he admitted to just discovering Chuck Berry only a few days ago. Was halfway to exposing the fact that he bought the track in the hopes that she would like it when he observed her hand brushing alongside the basket located on the floor between them. 

"What's this?" 

A softer tone escaped her lips as she placed the sunhat on the dashboard in favor of leaning towards the middle section again. Fingertips dipped faintly against the underside of Flip's thigh as she balanced herself on the seat to look down. He can blame the few inches the truck jerks to the right on something being in the road. Carmen's curls curtain her profile, blocking Flip from seeing her full reaction when he responds.

"A picnic basket," he affirmed, caught Carmen's dark eyes for a few seconds when she looked up at him. Felt the nerves from earlier coming back the longer she watched him. Eyes like a hawk, sharpened to see his every move.

"Flip," the curiosity in her tone is unmistakable, fingers still passing over the closed lid, "are we going on a picnic?"

His eyes stayed focused on the road ahead of them, mindful of the trees lining one half of the street looking for an opening. He took his time, nodded slowly to himself, and could feel the warm hot rush as it snaked its way up the back of his neck. His left-hand processes to roll his window down until the handle stops. It blows her perfume in the other direction, but it was a small sacrifice Flip made to get more air.

"I figured you probably have lunch around this time, so I made-"

"You _made_ us lunch," her index finger played with one of the braided straps of the basket, "can I look?"

She wrapped the rest of her fingers around the strap, lifting the weaved lid hardly an inch, buffalo plaid green and white cloth folded on top.

"No," He grinned, spotting the small area vacant of trees before turning off the paved road and onto an all too familiar dirt path, "we're almost there."

The suspicious edge in her eyes lessened at the promise of nearing their destination causing her to move away from the basket, away from him, in favor of looking back out the window; taking in the abundance of trees and bushes. They were essentially driving through a tunnel of sycamore trees that shadowed their path. It was relatively cooler on the North end of town given all the greenery that remained. 

"I've never been on a picnic before," Carmen said just a hair louder than Chuck Berry's latest guitar solo. 

She grabbed her sunhat from the dash, fiddled with the brim as the music played between them. The dips in the road shook them lightly as the truck slowed, wheels turned to avoid the old fallen log that covered a little less than half the road. A small woodland creature had popped its head up before burrowing itself back into its hole.

"Well, that makes two of us," Flip countered, the sycamore trees overhead started to thin out enough for the sun to return to center stage, creating a soft light that peaked between the leaves.

There was an uptick in the tone of her short hum as he laughed, promptly fragmenting the image Carmen had obviously and clearly conjured him to be. 

Officer Flip Zimmerman, now _Detective_ Zimmerman was good at his job, exceptional in fact. If an assignment involved gathering statements from tight-lipped witnesses he knew how to smooth talk his way to a description; had taken Hunt's advice about getting information by any means necessary a tad too literal in the earlier days of his training, but that was his job.

Yet Phillip Zimmerman who went to Harmony Lane Elementary School and was roped into being friends with two boys that talked more than auctioneers was not exactly a ladies man. By junior high he towered over everyone in his grade with facial features that would take him _years_ to grow into; a nose with character, his mother had said and ears that probably inspired Dumbo, his classmates had teased. It was the day of graduation while donning his cap and gown that seemed to highlight his now broad shoulders, strong nose, and rarely seen dimples; though his quieter demeanor remained.

Flip sensed the moment Carmen's eyes had spotted the light bouncing off the lake's surface. He would have been more deeply concerned that she might have fallen out of the truck if he was not driving so slow. Her body twisted as both her hands laid against the frame, seat belt digging into her midsection. 

There was no official path that led to the dock on the other side of the lake, just two rows of tire tracks where the grass was permanently flattened from years of Benny and himself driving up to the wooden landing. It took roughly 3 minutes from this entrance to reach their destination, where the sun would shine on their backs. Looking through the windshield Flip could see a few ducks floating on the surface of the water, ducklings following close behind as the current pushed them from side to side. Knew the sound of the truck had probably scared away any deer or smaller creatures drinking from the lake.

"Can we walk?" Carmen asked, one hand already wrapped around the door handle while the other fussed with the buckle, eyes brightened from the sun hitting through the windshield. He had barely nodded his head; foot pushing down on the brake before she swung open the door, the smell of lake water and dew-covered grass consuming them. The truck rolled to a full stop; a few yards away from the dock. Flip moved to shift the gear into park. There was a flash as the sun caught on her earrings and rings as she placed her sunhat back on her head, curls flattening towards the side of her face. 

She spun back towards the open door, dress fluttering up around her knees. She eyed the woven basket then him, took possibly one step forward before Flip snatched the basket up single-handedly. He placed the large box on the seat as he got out of the truck, closing the door once he checked to make sure everything they needed was either in his pocket or in the basket. Carmen had softly closed her door, leaving her bag behind.

It was a tranquil place, the water carried fallen green and half turned yellow leaves down to the smaller streams and nearby creeks. The only outside sounds began and ended with their steady footfalls. Flip walked at a moderately slower pace than normal to allow Carmen the opportunity to stroll and inspect the tiny flowers that were tangled in the grass; yellow, white, purple, and blue petals guided them. 

Flip's footsteps created a heavier sound once they landed on the wood. The dock was approximately 30 feet in length floating atop the calm gentle waves that the lake created. Algae slowly crept up the wood that was tied to the shore's edge moving just along the surface. It takes a few paces for Flip to notice that his footsteps are the only ones he could hear over the soft sound the water made as it hit the wood.

Arms folded close to her chest Carmen stood in the wild grass, eyeing the dock as it swayed gently from the current. 

"Is it safe?" she asked, brows positioned closer to her eyes creating a small frown.

"Well, I've only fallen in a handful of times," he replied.

Flip laughed at the expression she threw his way; eyes widened as she studied the water, still and untouched. He moved the basket from his right hand to his left and went to stand in front of her. A gust of wind rolled through the field, Flip knew the grass was tall enough to tickle her ankles. 

"I promise you won't fall in," he said softly after his laughter subsided, hand outstretched toward her with his palm up.

She observed his palm, the wooden dock under his feet then met his dark hazel eyes. It's a quick decision; her hand was significantly smaller than his, the tips of her fingers lightly rest against his ring finger. Her rings caused a shiver to run up the length of his arm from the cool metal. Her warmer skin tone only seemed to intensify as his fingers curved to hold her hand as gently as he could. 

Flip took a step to the side, giving her more space than needed to walk onto the dock which dipped from the sudden uneven weight. Carmen froze for a moment before Flip moved closer to her to steady the plank. Neither move as the dock leveled out, the gentle rock seamlessly disappearing as their bodies swayed with the small waves. 

Her braided sandals hardly made a sound as Carmen took delicate short steps, the old wood under her feet was just as solid and sturdy as the day it was built. The uneven rough texture provided her with a small batch of confidence as it prevented her from slipping despite the light dewy droplets that covered a few planks.

Flip found the concentration that graced her face entertaining, the dip in her brow as she seemed to inspect every board before gingerly placing her full weight on top. Her fingers subconsciously squeezed his as they moved towards the end of the dock, enclosing three of his fingers in a firm grip. 

"See," Flip grinned, "perfectly safe."

"Perfectly safe until I fall in," Carmen mumbled, as they reached the end of the dock, peering down at their reflection.

The water painted a slightly distorted picture of them on the surface, the gentle rolling from the wave sway their image back and forth. The sunhat shaded her face as the sun eclipsed their shoulders, warming their backs.

He returned the gentle squeeze around her fingers; rings warm from their shared body heat. The sunlight caught his eyes when he turned his head to meet her eyes, giving their usual dark hazel hue a warm amber-like appearance. The wicker basket was placed on the dock between their feet. Carmen kneeled down to help Flip with the oversized blanket, it was soft from years of use, a little thin and threadbare around the edges.

She made quick work to seat herself, crossed her legs, and readjusted her dress before nimble fingers encased around the lid of a mason jar, looking up at him expectantly. She shook it softly, the liquid inside the glass sloshed around, then mimicked the same movement with the next jar. Flip couldn't stop the chuckle that escaped his lips, plopped down with the less amount of grace possible, nervous energy dissipating from her tactics. 

"It's just lemonade," he explained, "nothing fancy."

Her nails are just long enough to tap at the metal lid for a moment. They were a seasonal autumn color, the same burnt orange the leaves would eventually match.

"Did you make this lemonade?" She unscrewed the lid, handing one to him, then opening her own. The glass was covered in a thin layer of frost from its previous stay in the freezer.

"Mostly," he took a slow sip, "I had some help."

"Your mom?" She asked, swirling the jar around, a single circular slice of lemon following her miniature whirlpool. 

Flip felt his throat close up choking briefly on the sweetened citrus beverage. 

"Oh god no," he waved one hand between them, nosed scrunched up in objection, "I helped rebuild a fence for a friend. His grandmother offered to help me."

Carmen peaked back into the wicker basket that laid between them, filled to the brim with plastic-wrapped sandwiches, an excess variety of berries; blue, black, and possibly strawberries and a light blue Tupperware that seemed to house some kind of pasta salad. 

"Does she expect us to eat all of this?" She pulled out the wrapped sandwich, it was a simple BLT. Mrs.Douglas had shown him the previous day how to watch the edges of the bacon to know when to turn the strips over in the skillet, though she had failed to mention he should keep a careful eye out for the pops of grease. 

"It's not that much," he took the sandwich she offered him from her small hand, tries not to imagine her anywhere else while she's right in front of him, knows there's another time for that.

"Flip, you'll eat someone out of a house and home," she said after taking a bite, hums in approval. "Or just yourself, this is really good."

Out on the lake, it becomes apparent that Carmen isn't as bashful and reserved as Flip had studied her to be. Without the observant eyes of customers and additional waitresses nearby, she had an offbeat sense of humor, a woman who talked with her hands, and her laugh was something Flip wanted to have recorded on a cassette to play over and over during late-night shifts. 

She glanced at him and all the years of practice on how to analyze people's facial expressions came rushing to the surface. It was difficult for him not to notice that while she was beaming at him, sandwich in hand, she somehow looked troubled by something. 

"No ones ever made me food before," she said after a few minutes, the pair simply took in the peaceful atmosphere of the breeze and the chirping of birds. "Thank you."

"Not even Ricky?" Flip teased. Carmen laughed, eyes clearing up from their sudden cryptic manner. It took her a second to gather herself, taking another bite of her sandwich.

"He puts cold chicken on white bread with mayonnaise out of the jar," she huffed, gestured with the sandwich in her hand, "and calls it a sandwich."

"That is a sandwich," he confirmed, confused as to how meat and a condiment on bread would not be considered such; looks at the BLT in his own hand and silently thanked all above that Mrs.Douglas had swayed him away from the turkey and cheese combination he had originally suggested.

"With mayonnaise out of the jar?" She accused, finishing one half of her sandwich, grabbing a napkin to wipe her hands.

"What's wrong with plain mayonnaise?" He questioned, a single brow raised. 

Her laugh was cut short as she stared at him in what he could only assume was disbelief. Her hand moved up near her ear before dropping back into her lap. Her thumb and index finger moved to play with the silver bands that adorned her fingers.

"Are those blueberries?" She inquired promptly rifling through the fully stocked basket. Hands pushing aside the light blue Tupperware to grab at the green plastic basket filled with plump blueberries

Flip popped the rest of his sandwich in his mouth, seizing both of her petite hands in one. He shook his head smirking as Carmen made a weak attempt to pull her hands free. 

"Oh no, you're not changing the subject," He explained, dark hazel locked on her equal deep eyes, "what's wrong with putting plain mayo on a sandwich."

"Flip, you can't honestly say you like the taste of mayonnaise?" Carmen's nose scrunched up. 

"As a matter of fact," Flip tugged at her hands which brought their bodies a little closer, "I love mayonnaise."

"Flip," it was a combination of tone and how she was able to draw out the single syllable that had him letting go of her hands just as quickly as he had grasped them; ears burning.

The motion of jerking his hand away from her caused him to bump the lemonade filled mason jar he had forgotten was by his thigh, unintentionally knocking it over with his elbow. The glass had tilted for a mere second then spilled cold sugary sweet citrus over half his lap. His dark washed jeans quickly soaked up all the liquid as they blackened. He could feel the way the denim was stuck to his thigh seeping into his black briefs. 

Carmen watched silently as the jar rolled against the bumpy aged wood, ending with a plop as it tumbled into the water, immediately sinking to the bottom of the lake.

She was blotting his leg with an almost excessive amount of napkins, pressing down on the wet material. If he wasn't in such a shock Flip figured he would have enjoyed the way she fussed about, mumbling out apologizes as she pushed down harder. 

"I hope Mrs.Douglas has extra jars," Flip said into the ever-growing stillness.

It's unexpected, rightfully so, and the laugher that bubbles between them seems to suit their rather unfortunate situation flawlessly. Carmen squinted up at him, the brim of her sunhat brushed against his forehead, her smile infectious.

"I'm awfully sorry," she whispered, this close Flip could _feel_ the air that left her lips. His brain seemed to ultimately correlate that the warm hand pushing down on his thigh was in fact the same hand that belonged to the face in front of him. He placed his larger hand on top of hers, the size difference between the two almost comical. Her thumb roughly the size of his pinkie.

"It's fine, really," He tried. 

"But your pants–"

"It’s a good thing I chose the lake," Flip grinned, scooting his body closer to the edge of the dock, wood digging into the underside of his mid-thighs. “I’ll just wash ‘em now.”

"What," Carmen stared at him, bewildered.

"They're starting to stick to my leg, so might as well," he shrugged, "just dip your feet in. It'll be fine."

Flip smiled as Carmen slowly proceeded to untie the ribbon that held her sandals in place. She set the cream color sandals behind her, advancing gradually towards the edge of the dock. The water lapped just a few inches above her ankles as she released a sigh from the cooling sensation. 

"See," Flip agreed as he leaned forward to pull off his left boot than the right, tossing one further up the dock away from the water. He balled up his socks to stuff in the other boot, before throwing it back as well. His hands moved to his collar, unbuttoning just the first few white buttons hyper-aware of Carmen trying and failing not to watch him out of the corner of her eye. Her feet kicking in the water mildly, hands gripped the edge of the wood. It only takes a second to push off the planks beneath him before he's submerged in water. 

A few more weeks and the lake would be freezing, with autumn already starting to creep in, the water was still a few degrees above uncomfortably cold. The sun's light had warmed the surface and a few inches below. Opening his eyes briefly underwater, Flip observed how the sun's rays infiltrated the water to highlight a few logs and bushes that had either fallen into the lake or were thrown in after a bonfire. He swam closer to the dock recognizing bronzed feet that aimlessly kicked back and forth. 

With a smirk, he reached out.

Underwater Flip heard the sound that escaped Carmen's lips as his fingers swiftly wrapped around her ankle. He tugged without any real force, just enough to bring part of her calf into the murky water below. The foot he wasn't currently holding tried to push his fingers off. Flip made quick work of grabbing her other ankle before she could possibly kick him anywhere near his face. 

Carmen stopped struggling once he had broken the surface, laughing loudly when she addressed him by his full name. It took a moment for him to blink the water from his eyes, droplets clung to his eyelashes. He let go of one ankle to slick his hair back, felt the long strands clump together at the end creating a stream of water that traveled down his neck.

She was biting the inside of her cheek when Flip looked up at her, the sun creating an outline around her body. Her sunhat provided him shade from his spot in the water.

"Couldn't help myself," He supplied, mindful to keep the smirk that was threatening to pull at the corner of his lips at bay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently working on editing the second half to this massive chapter (part ii is roughly 6k+ words).  
> No spoilers but you can follow my [tumblr](https://modestefemme.tumblr.com/) (I accidentally locked myself out for a month, sorry.)  
> And before anyone asks, yes this event actually happened to me. Still the best date I have ever been on.


	8. Underwater Surprise (II)

Flip made the attempt to swim closer only to be stopped by Carmen's foot pushing against his collar bone, the ball of her heel pressed down gently. The small drops of water flowed off her calf and dripped onto his clothed covered chest. The denim stuck to the parts of his body that were above the surface. 

"Don't you dare," she stated while shaking her head, her foot pushed against him, fingers tightening their grip on the wooden dock. It was hard to take her seriously with the playful smile to form on her face.

Flip chuckled, releasing her ankle in favor of resting his forearms on the dock, denim sticking against his upper back. The breeze that blew by was pleasant despite his wet shirt, the air was still warm.

"Suit yourself," he teased, resting his chin atop his arms, looking out across the lake. There were small movements signaling that creatures were slowly coming back to the water. A small buck a few yards away stepped gingerly down the banks, a few twigs were stuck in his antlers; they would eventually dry up and fall out on there own.

The fingers that fell tenderly onto his shoulder had him looking back in her direction. Eyes traveled up the length of her arm, to the golden amber of her dress to her dark eyes framed by darker eyelashes. Carmen smiled as she offered him a handful of blueberries, the plastic green container sat comfortably in her lap; the less than conventional position caused most of the berries to spill onto the dock rather than into his palm. 

She plucked the fallen blueberries up one at a time, tossing a few into the lake. The round berries seemed to sink before popping up, floating along the top. They were almost translucent, hearty dark blue matching the water in certain spots. A duck, colored in a multitude of browns and grays, swam close enough to eat one. Bill disappearing in the water as its black eyes closed for a moment letting out a quack, turning its body in the direction of the pair near the dock as it started to float closer to them.

“You know if you start feeding her, she’ll never leave you alone,” Flip explained, already relaxing back into his arms, the sun was starting to dry the top of his head, a few strands curling up along his temple.

Carmen paused in her alteration of tossing berries in the lake and popping a few in her mouth. She chewed slowly eyeing the mallard that was now closer to Flip than her; could spot the other ducks and ducklings floating a few yards away, watching.

“How do you know it's a 'she',” Carmen tossed a few more berries, the volume in their impact as they hit the surface of the water was louder now that she was trying to bring the duck closer to herself. 

"Cause _she_ ," Flip turned away from Carmen, stretching his arm out, fingertips a few inches away from the curious duck, "stole the fish I was reeling in yesterday."

His fingers dipped in the water to flick a few droplets at the creature's orange-and-brown bill. The mallard disappeared under the water for a few moments, small circular ripples left in its wake before popping up a few yards away back in its original spot.

“You fish?” Carmen asked, putting the plastic green basket away to grab another identical one, the strawberries were bright red and surprisingly large for this time of year. 

"For fun, just me and a buddy," he replied. 

She hummed around the strawberry in her mouth.

A lull followed settling into the space between them, Flip eyed her profile for a few seconds, highly aware that this was usually around the time most of his dates would show signs of aggravation will his lack of conversational direction. He looked around the area to locate something worth chatting about; the buck that was shading itself from the sun, the leaves before they began to change, or how the frost would soon overhaul the lake creating a solid sheet as the water waved underneath.

The dock swayed slightly as Carmen readjust her position, using her hands to lift her body closer to the edge as she lowered her feet further underwater. 

"Could you teach me someday?" She had asked, watching the way the water distorted the appearance of her toes as she wiggled them.

Flip kept his eyes fixated on the buck across the way, how it would shake its head every so often, a piece of the twig falling loose, because _someday_ , usually hinted at another possible time in the future, which meant Flip had to actually be doing something right; or close enough to right that warranted another date.

"Sure, whenever you want," he said; already making the mental note to request whatever day off she needed him to be available: a Monday morning following an all-night shift, possibly a Wednesday midday after lunch where he would not be clocking back in, or any Saturday night when once in a blue moon his mother would ask if he'd like to accompany her to the synagogue in the next town over. 

Carmen smiled, her head titled down ever so slightly as she bit into another strawberry, her feet starting to kick at the water again. Flip ignored the first few splashes that seemed to hit his side but turned when he caught the movement of her leg purposefully moving the water sideways. He looked up to see her biting into another strawberry, a tint of red juice running down the palm of her hand to her wrist. 

A more forceful wave knocked against him as she snickered with a mouthful of berries. She lifted one leg up onto the dock as Flip lunged forward. The combination of water that was covering the wood, along with Carmen's uneven weight as she attempted to twist her body away, and the movement of Flip grabbing the upper half of the arm she had been using for support resulted in only one outcome.

While Flip had declared that the water was not cold, Carmen would beg to differ as the lower half of her body fell into the lake, the only thing spared from its icy current was the sunhat that sat atop her head. Her breath caught from the sudden change in temperature around her; how her feet kicked to stay afloat; one hand clutching onto Flip's muscular bicep.

It took Flip a moment, unsure if he should apologize or possibly laugh about the sudden change of events before he's met with a rather large splash of lake water to the face. A shout of laugher filled the air between them, her dress billowing up along the surface.

"I can't believe you just-" Carmen began, her grip on his bicep increasing as she used her other hand to push the bottom half of her dress under the water, the golden amber took on a deeper appearance.

"You lost your balance," Flip clarified, blinking rapidly to see through the water that ran down his face. Carmen a blurry vision of gold and brown.

"Because of _you_ , I'm soaked" she finished firmly, her index finger poked at his chest, ring shimmering between them. Her head was tipped so far back to look him in the eye, Flip had an unexpected urge to just knock the straw hat from her head.

"Well, technically only half of you is actually wet," Flip stated, he could feel how his dimples deepened as he moved the arm she was not clutching out of the water, gradually making a beeline for her shoulder. It's a slow enough speed for Carmen to understand what he was implying and to push away from him if she desired.

She barely moved an inch back her brows dipped, "but my hair."

The ringlets and curls shone from what light they were able to catch from under her hat. Her locks brushed the tips of her shoulder with every gentle breeze.

"Good thing you brought a hat," Flip teased, as he used a single finger to push the brim down slightly. There's a huff from under the brim, a hand smacked his chest playfully.

"Don't stare okay?"

It's the oddest request Flip has ever heard, but nods along once she looks up at him.

His hand appeared to cover her entire shoulder, thumb resting against her neck where he felt the jump of her pulse under his pinkie that followed the curve toward the length of her arm. He allowed himself to sink a few inches for her own hand to rest on his shoulder, her thumb caught the corner of his collar, playing with the wet fabric.

Flip doesn't remember if they had actually agreed to count to three as he opened his eyes underwater, inky black locks floated in his peripheral vision. The sun's ray revealed every branch that was impaled in the mud that lay beneath his feet; highlighted the contrast of his pale hand against Carmen's bronzed collar; bounced off the rings that decorated her hand as she danced fingertips along his cheek. 

She was so close to him, her hair a loose cloud without the sunhat; from the lack of distance she could probably count the light freckles and moles that painted Flip's face like an odd constellation. She gave him a closed mouth smile, used his shoulders as leverage to push herself back up towards the surface. He watched her legs flutter, dress wrapped around her body. 

By the time he re-emerged there was only an abandoned sunhat drifting back and forth from the breeze in front of him. Carmen's golden dress clung to her shoulders as she floated along the lake, eyes closed with her arms stretched out on either side. Her head turned in his direction when she heard the way the water sang from the droplets the sprayed wildly from the shake of his head.

She wiggled her fingers at him disappearing back under the water as he swam towards her. It was a playful game of cat and mouse that Flip had not been expecting. Carmen's shorter figure gave her the advantage of swimming faster, that every time Flip's fingers even brushed against any part of her body she could easily propel herself further away from him within seconds. He was sure to keep an eye on her sunhat that remained afloat near the dock. The ducks too cautious to inspect exactly what was bobbing along the small waves.

The heavyweight of the water seemed to elongate her hair, pulling the tighter curls to waves that draped behind her shoulders. Her arms moved to keep her head above the lake as Flip swam towards her. She was wiggling her fingers towards something on the other side of the clearing; it took him a moment to properly spot the buck that had stood from its lax position a few minutes earlier to slowly walking to the wet soil, the water lapping at its front hooves. 

It darted through the green once Flip reached Carmen's side, leaves rustling in its wake.

"Is this where you tell me your secretly Snow White?" Flip taunted as a fish brushed past his thigh, scales cold.

"Maybe," Carmen smiled, flicking the water that collected on her fingers towards him, laughing as Flip shook the water out of his hair for a second time, droplets flying through the air wildly landing like rain. She turned from him swimming with ease back to the dock, hair gliding along the water.

By the time Flip reached the dock, Carmen had made a minimum of four attempts of pulling herself back onto the dock. There was a significant difference in pulling a person's entire body weight plus wet clothes onto a moving dock that roughly stood two feet against the surface versus carrying armfuls of dirty dishes from a booth to the diner kitchen sink. 

He waited; watched how she paused in her movement, could see that she was looking at him from the corner of her eye. Her fingers drummed against the plank as she laid her forehead against the permanently wet wood, eyes closed momentarily.

"Could you," she paused, eyes opened and gazing into his, "could you help me up." 

Flip tried not to think too much about his hands on her waist; how the fabric of her dress stuck to her like a second skin. How close his nose came to brushing against the amber color, the muscles in his arms flexed from lifting her halfway out of the water as she pushed herself up; the backs of her thighs just _there_. He used the seconds it took Carmen to straighten herself out along the dock to grab her sunhat as it floated by; the straw material that curved around the top portion and brim had darkened from the lake water. 

He took his time to pulled himself up, laid the hat onto the dock as he sat a few feet away from her. Heard the faint scraping sound the picnic basket made as it was pulled along the wood; felt the gentle wind the blanket produced as Carmen moved to wrap it around her shoulders. There was a flash of green and white as she had reached toward him, offering him a portion. It was an awkward shuffle between moving his legs and balancing on his hands to inch closer, accidentally knocking into her shorter frame. After a few minor adjustments, the buffalo design draped over both their shoulders. 

From his peripheral vision, Flip could see that Carmen had grabbed the rest of the strawberries from their box laying the plastic wickered basket on her lap.

Neither said anything for a few moments, Flip idly fiddled with the dampen sunhat, the weaved martial bumping against the pads of his fingertips, rubbing under the palms of his hands. A single piece of straw dislodged from the large braid, poking the skin of his thumb.

"Here's your hat," his voice caught in the middle of her name at the sudden weight of her head resting against his shoulder, her curls were still dripping and started to dampen his semi-dry denim shirt.

He knew she couldn't quite possibly hear his heart hammering away in his chest, feel the way it seemed to hit against his ribs. The cold sensation as the lake water traveled like molasses down his shoulder.

Their fingers had slid against each other over the straw material. The icy temperature of her rings a mild shock.

"Thank you," Carmen started, before a sneeze cut her off, head dipped towards her chin, eye scrunch shut for a few seconds. 

"Did you want to sit in the truck?" Flip asked. The prominent breeze rolled through the grass onto the dock and pushed an equally loud sneeze from Flip.

Carmen laughed at the sniffle that followed. "I think we should."

The two made quick work of collecting all the various Tupperware and jars the seemed to have spread out along the dock. Flip shoved the containers back into the weaved basket, still mindful as to not break anything. He made a note in his head to pick up another mason jar at the general store in town for Mrs.Douglas. 

Carmen hugged the buffalo styled blanket close to her body as well as picking up both Flip and her own pair of shoes as they journeyed back to the abandoned chevy. Their bare feet made little to no noise as the leaves rustled overhead. 

"I don't understand how you walk in these things," Carmen wiggled the boots in her arm, "they're like lead."

Flip laughed as he opened the passenger door for her, taking his boots back and the damp blanket. 

"I guess I just got used to them on tour," he assumed throwing the blanket down in the bed of his truck before placing the basket on top, checking to be certain it would not slide around once they started to head back into town. 

He turned to close her door only to find Carmen's almond eyes looking back at him; her sandals discard on the metal floor. 

"You were drafted to Vietnam?" Her voice pitched higher at the end of her question. 

Flip blinked at the rather sad tone, use to the way some people tended to crowd him in excited.

"No," he placed his hand on the doorframe behind her, waited for a beat after she climbed in and turned her body back towards him, eyes locking on to his. "I volunteered."

He closed the door almost as softly as the 'oh' that left her mouth. The frown that settled over her face through the window. Flip decided to walk around the back of the truck to buy himself some time; unsure how to move away from the topic he unexpectedly brought upon himself. 

He popped the lid of the plastic toolbox in the back. It was mainly empty, all the tools either in the garage or with Benny. There were a few nails that rolled around and the hammer he kept forgetting to take out. He grabbed the dark green flannel he had thrown in for unforeseen situations such as spilling something on himself or getting caught in the rain. 

It was threadbare around the elbows from years of wear. Flip suspected his mother had bought the shirt for him a year before his high school graduation, back then it didn't fit right and hung from his shoulders. Carmen was securing her sandal around her ankle when he finally opened the door. Head dipped and hair hiding her face briefly before she was sitting back up. 

She smiled soft and slow as Flip wordlessly handed over the flannel. 

"You really did have one in the back," she laughed, shuffling the warm material around looking for a sleeve opening. Flip smiled as he climbed into the truck to started the engine, and turned the volume dial down before the 8 track could resume. He moved to help her untangle the wrinkled flannel, fingers bumping against one another every few seconds. 

"Of course," Flip huffed, "can't let the guys see me without one."

They shared a small laugh as Carmen found the first sleeve opening. Flip knew the shirt would be rather large on her, as he watched the way the wool seemed to engulf her entire arm at just the elbow. He helped roll the leftover material up around her wrist. 

"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want," she moved to slip her arm through the second sleeve, "I read a lot about it in the papers at the diner."

Carmen held out her arm to Flip who paused as his hand clutched onto the warm weighted flannel. Felt the way his fingers brushed up against the soft underside of her wrist.

"Another time?" Flip figured that if what they were doing started to lean into something solid and real and _permanent_ then this was his best offer. 

"Another time." It's a smaller smile, though it was just as soft and warm as every other time she looked at him.

The cool of the air conditioner faded as the heater rattled as the hot air blew out from the vents. Carmen leaned back against the leather, _his_ flannel shirt a blanket around her body.

She ran a hand through her hair and Flip noticed that it looked different from before, but somehow still familiar. It was closer to how he saw her at the fair, curls tight and shiny. He moved to reach out towards it, stopped at the sudden turn of her head, curls followed the movement. 

"What are you doing?" She asked, using her index finger and thumb to separate a large selection near her temple, a few strands were caught on her rings as the rest seemed to _bounce_ back.

Flip could feel the rush of heat crawling under his skin.

"I was just going to," he paused, the thought of having to narrator his action to her a bit uncomfortable, "touch your hair?"

"No," she said, her lips stayed in a slightly pouted position as she pulled at another selection in the front. And maybe Flip was imagining the way her hair seemed to _grow_ in size the more she pulled at it. He settled for letting his arm drop across the headrests, bit the inside of his cheek when his index finger very softly brushed a few curls near the back of her neck. 

Carmen positioned her hand right up against the vent for a moment before withdrawing them, pulling each ring off her finger; placing the thin metal bands on top of the dashboard, the sun reflected off the multiple delicate designs. They sat in silence for a few more moments, Flip closed his eyes as the heat danced across his body. The wet material of his denim shirt pulled away from his chest as it dried, wrinkled fabric set from the rough way he had pulled at the cloth. 

"We should probably head back to the diner," Carmen said in the air, readjusted her body position with her seatbelt in hand, "Ricky's waiting for me."

"Yeah," Flip mumbled. His finger absentmindedly curled around a lock of her hair, nail dragged faintly against her neck before he stopped, "at the diner?"

Carmen nodded her head, fiddling with the brim of her sunhat.

"My dad has family in town and they can be a bit loud," she laughed, "he comes to the diner to study. It's quiet in the back."

Flip could only imagine how loud a house must be for a local diner to be considered quiet; how many people had to be crowded around a kitchen table or leaning against countertops. The last time it wasn't just Flip and his parents in their home had to be years ago, when Benny, Tommy, and a few other boys from their grade came around to watch Willie Mays bat for the San Francisco Giants. 

"How big's your family?" He questioned.

"It's just me and Ricky, but my mom has two brothers and my dad is the youngest of five," Carmen started, using her fingers to keep track as she spoke. "Simone's dad is my mom's older brother. He has two kids and my other uncle has three kids, so that's five cousins here in Lincoln."

Flip stared in silence not quite sure how he was supposed to respond or if he was supposed to respond.

"And they're all at your house," Flip asked. She laughed when she glanced over to see how far his eyebrows had raised as she began to count the number of cousins she had on her father's side of the family.

"Just the ones who aren't in school," she clarified, though that didn't help with the dry air that seemed to catch in his throat. The thought of never truly having a moment alone in his own house seemed claustrophobic, but the idea of always having someone around to talk to was inviting. 

He refused to think too far into the future, of a small house packed with in-laws. Of bodies making beds out of sofa chairs and one couch, of gingerly stepping over sleeping children to get a glass of water late at night. Flip halted that thought of going from an only child whose morning routine was grabbing a single plate for bacon, eggs, and toast to pulling multiple plates down from full cabinets. 

"So you're always with someone?" He concluded; Simone at the diner, a younger brother at home, multiple cousins that likely hung out in town together on weekends.

"Well," Carmen started faintly as she played with the brim of her hat, "not right now."

Flip wasn't sure if he was meant to take that as a hint, but he shifted a few inches closer to the middle section, used the hand he had on the steering wheel to move the upper half of his body towards her. His other arm stayed on her headrest, this time his fingers openly played with a single curl.

"Would it be to forward if?" his voice trailed off as his eyes zeroed in on her lips, their full and the swim in the lake has left them bare from the gloss that once coated them. 

"No," she whispered. The same nervous smile from when he first saw her at the diner graced her face. 

Flip tried not to crowd her, though it was a difficult task for someone his size not to. He had heard the way her breathing stilled, this close he smelt the scent that lingered in her hair. Flip’s skin was positively vibrating, hyperaware of every dip in the leather seat beneath him. 

The slow wrap of Carmen's fingers nearly surprised him as she squeezed at his hand when he touched her cheek. His brain after a long period seemed to read her small signal as uncertainty. Carmen's hand appeared to hold him still but slightly pull him away at the same time. Flip leaned out of her space.

"Sorry, it's just," she whispered.

Flip doesn’t understand why she had apologized. Doesn’t know why she would still give him that kind smile. 

Her fingers had slid from his hand slowly down his wrist then stopped at the bend near his elbow, her hand was warm against his forearm. Carmen bit the inside of her cheek in thought as she observed him. He blinked unsure of what to do in such a situation; he wasn’t going to make any type of attempt to lean forward without her consent. She squeezed his forearm softly before tugging him closer and Flip leaned down again promptly because he’s only human and her lips were just as soft as they appeared. 

Carmen's bare fingers winded through his hair seamlessly without her rings to catch on anything. They found their home in dark tangled locks, her thumb gently stroked his ear, and Flip swiftly discovered that was something he liked, _a lot_ , judging from the sound that left his lips as they parted. It's something he pushed to the back of his mind; he would have been embarrassed if not for the equally enjoyable notes that echoed back. It's difficult to maintain any sense of gentlemen like behavior when he placed his hand on the upper half of Carmen's arm and _pulled_ her across the small remaining stretch of leather.

The days, weeks, _months_ of pent up electricity finally followed free through his limbs. He could feel the light dust of hair that covered her arms, lets his fingers wander up the back of her neck to the collar of _his flannel_ which was lightly damp as he tugged on curls. The scent from her hair was faint but still present. 

"Flip."

He'd like to pretend he didn't hear her. Didn't feel the draft that formed as she pulled away. But he could only hang on to the hope that this was something they could do again, preferably in the _very_ near future. The small uneven breathes she took were the only physical indication that she felt the way Flip looked. The tips of his ears were hot, face flushed, lips red from the pressure she had applied to them. Her hand was still tangled in his hair, still stroked at his ear and Flip had to bite his lip to prevent the moment from becoming too obscene. 

He concealed it with a poorly timed cough, leaned his head forward to rest their foreheads together, the longer selections of his hair stuck between them. It was quiet, no audible noise of the birds that flew overhead just the occasional harsh sounds from the ducks. Carmen tilted her head just a hair to press her lips softly against his one last time before she fully pulled away. 

"We have to go back," she whispered into the air that blanketed around them, that filled the cabin with a charge.

Flip felt the way his brow dipped as he seemed to have forgotten there was a physical "back" they had to eventually return to. That there was a town beyond the trees that had surrounded them; where the sidewalks and small shops were filled with local petty gossip and judgmental eyes. Where the view is just concrete and brick buildings instead of meadows, moss-covered logs, and a sun that warms a quiet lake.

"Right," he muttered.

The sun had yet to shift significantly in the sky, still bright and blue, but Flip knew that it was best to leave certain things for other days; to not use up all his luck so recklessly. Another day would lead to another kiss, kisses, or something more. He leaned back into his seat to take a deep breath as he ran a quick hand through his hair. He played with the keys that were stuck in the ignition, index finger flickering his house key back and forth.

"I work this Sunday," Carmen spoke into the light atmosphere of the cabin, tugging on the flannel material more, hugging it to her body.

The metal bite of the house key hit Flip's finger as he paused.

"I could swing by," Flip started slowly, beginning to understand the way Carmen used certain patterns and suggestions to emphasize her hints, "if that's something you'd wanted."

Carmen stretched out across the seat to place her hand on top of his. It was soft and warm.

"Well, if I didn't want you to 'swing by' I wouldn't have said anything." She smiled.

Flip chuckled before shifting the truck in gear as the tires rolled forward.

It's always the destination that seemed the farthest away, Flip could swear with every blink it felt like the remaining miles back to the diner just flew by. The trees had already begun to thin out around them, landscape filled the growing gapes before the tires hit the paved streets of the town. The bushes were blurred into different shades of green as the truck rolled past. Even with the additional streets that he took to prolong their apparent rapid return, there was only one last right turn he had to make before a familiar yellow newsstand would come into view. 

The street sign was visible, taunting him with every yard he passed. The truck slowed to a stop at the corner behind the auto shop; from the street, he could see that the shop was currently not working on any cars. Just a few guys out back on their break. He kept his foot on the brake a little longer, had wanted to just take a few more seconds to enjoy this.

Carmen hummed to herself lightly, eyes taking in the slow afternoon and the workers milling around the back of the garage. There was a fold-out table placed near the edge of the interior with metal lunch boxes and cans of soda scattered on the surface. With the window still down the faintest sound of trumpets were carried to the truck. 

Flip took his foot off the brake allowing the truck to roll forward.

"Could you go up one more block?" 

Additional time spent in the safety of his truck was not something Flip would ever argue against. He double-checked that no other cars were coming before crossing the intersection. It's a smaller side street that followed the length of a grey brick building that seemed to be a bakery. 

Carmen directed him to the back of the building. Flip stopped a few feet away from the bakery's back entrance. There was a small spot of fresh oil on the ground indicating whatever delivery van they owned had recently left.

Carmen unbuckled her seatbelt, leaning forward to grab the rings left on the dashboard. Slowly placing each silver bang on her finger one at a time humming to the fading guitars that filter through the radio. The wind has seamlessly dried her hair shrinking raven locks closer to her ears than her shoulders; her curls were still as voluminous as ever.

She turned her body towards him, leather squeaking at the sudden movement, a playful smile on her face.

"I had a really wonderful time Flip," she started, a soft giggle slowly entering the air, "even though you did _pull_ me into the lake."

Flip could feel a similar smile stretch across his face, could feel how his cheeks pushed upwards in delight. He bit at his lip for a moment, readjusted his grip around the wheel, before letting go. His hand reached for her left hand that rested on the leather between them. 

It's a familiar cold from the rings that find themselves at home around her long fingers. Polish still shining before disappearing as Flip holds her hand, thumb gently stroking against her knuckles. 

"I had a really wonderful time Carmen, even though you did _fall_ into the lake," he parroted back, the uptick of his laugher caught at the end.

Their lips meet softly in a quick touch before Flip felt the cold breeze blow against his face, eyes opened to see Carmen climbing out of the truck. She reached back to grab her satchel, shrugging off his flannel then folding it in a quick manner before stuffing it into her bag.

The confusion must have played across his face as he moved to open his own door. The air had lost its warmth from the lake as he rounded the back.

"I have a couple of patches at home that would match," she supplied, sticking her finger through one of the several holes his flannel had grown throughout its years. 

"You don't have to," Flip started with a shake of his head.

"I want to," she finished, tilting her head up slightly. He smiled as he reached up to place the straw hat gently on her head, bending the outer rim inward, curls pressed against her cheeks.

Flip let his hands fall back to his side for a moment, shoving them in his front pockets before deciding to gingerly take hold of Carmen's hand that was not holding on to the brown leather strap of her bag. Reluctantly he pulled her down the small alleyway towards the entrance that would lead to the diner. 

"I'll walk with you," he said. Their fingers naturally intertwined with one another, the coldness of her rings were starting to become a special feature of his. It was a short walk, just a few feet in reality, but its seconds Flip knew he was glad he could steal. Neither said anything as they walked, the silence between them allowed a chance to replay the event that took place roughly less than an hour ago.

The last feating moments of summer glow; where the sun could still warm wet clothes. Of the curious dazes of animals that will soon be hiding from the winter chills not leaving their cozy dens until the first drips of spring. Of a line either knew they were willing to cross during a setting sun.

"See you Sunday," Flip felt himself whisper into the straw material as his arms wrapped around the upper half of Carmen's body just before the mouth of the alley. His fingers pulled one last time at tight curls as she moved away from him. Her lips stretched in a wide smile, teeth white before she turned and headed towards the diner. 

"I'll save you a table in the back," she grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone!  
> Sorry for the unprompted hiatus.  
> 2020 proved to be an emotionally draining year, but I think 2021 will definitely be one of personal highs. 
> 
> You can follow me on [tumblr](https://modestefemme.tumblr.com/) for progress updates or just to say 'hi!' :)


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